Fox Rinne

Testosterone at 10pm

In the night
comes the butterfly’s
proboscis
dripping silver
into my slack
mouth. I can feel
a thousand teeth
sinking gently
into my arms, suckling
to sleep. The silver, the saliva
is everywhere.
I have gone
bright with it.
I wake in the dark
in a beautiful fever,
sticky, wash it
from my hands,
wake again, and
lick what is left
shining
around the drain. I am
the angel of transformation. I am
indecent to no one.
Some violence
breeds in me
and I feed myself to it.
Like all need, it is
redundant. A tail
sprouts from the bone.
A prayer aches for the release
of song. Tonight
I cannot chrysalis the I
that shivers in the skinned
hide of a doe.
Tonight I am the beckoning,
my throat blue with a strange bird call,
my body the twitching underbrush,
asking,
taking,
asking
to eat.