I began in this dawn wavering
like a baby goat’s legs
on its first steeper ledge,
wavering like its tiny, trying muscles,
like the damp tangled hairs
trickling over its unchipped hooves.
Here is my body.
Hold me up to the light.
See the shadows of my known organs.
See the outlines of the unknown.
Hear the pumping, the gurgling, the acids.
Heavy, aren’t I?
Heavier than you thought.
Why so surprised
considering what I have inside me?
Think of all a stadium holds even when it’s empty.
And then count how many stadiums are inside me.
Hold me up to this light.
How many do you see?
Its not easy to tear a stadium down.
See the dawn drip through the masses left,
brush the puzzled grass, the loge level.
See it flush through each retractable dome
like wet tissue and semen ghosts in toilet water.
Great. Now I’m seeing ghosts.
The world in this dawn has pin-burst and pierced me
like a lion’s eyeshine caught mid-
kill by the headlights of a television crew.
Watch the red muzzles of the babies emerge.
Watch the gentle lapping.
Even killing machines have to lick their cubs clean.
Even men have to be emptied of their stadiums.
I creak and guzzle and yap in this light,
like the empty molded seats, like the men gathering
in the parking lots, the baby lions tearing.
They are all inside me.
They are all inside me, I know.
I try so hard to be careful.