Monday morning roaming the hallways, searching as always
for a quiet place to be,
I locate an indifferent corner,
non-descript; sinking down I allow
my fingers to ghost over a crack in the brick
that no one has bothered to repair;
I like this corner - it reminds me of me.
This newfound corner and I create a perfect silent unity, but
noises fast approaching are unfriendly - my stomach clenches.
In front of me now are a group of three plus three,
they've yet to notice my presence, and I remain within the safe arms of my corner. We'll guard each other.
Before my eyes three plus two have surrounded One, cruelly trapping
his willowy figure in between their masculine forms - making escape impossible. The captors jeer and leer and malign,
screeching and hooting endearments such as "faggot" and "ass-fucker".
They break his glasses.

The One says not a word, doesn't shield himself from hateful blows and cutting glares, makes no feeble attempt to escape the onslaught, he only looks down at the ground                                                          - the ground is his mother, as the wall is mine - he accepts his punishment while the ground cradles his feet in its arms like a newborn baby. He is beautiful.
I can't look any longer.
I turn my face away into the cool marble fingers of my corner - it's embrace is coldly comforting.


On Sundays, my wise elders tell me with only
contempt in their hard precious eyes that
man was created in God's wonderful image.
Man is the only creature
who slowly kills his fellow brother,
and draws blood with the sweetest of pleasure.