Her Hands

All her thoughts go to him,
all her tears, all her lust. She’s like a camel, carrying it all
in a rounded protuberance on her back. The abnormality causes her distress. Her hands are the only things she has

that are free. They get her in trouble. They take on a life
of their own. Her fingers are like roaches. They crawl in every hole. They hide inside crevices, watching and
waiting. They do things against the law.  They take things from

stores. They do things immoral. They hit and they claw. They please what’s not theirs. But they write. They write about
thoughts, about pain, and the tears that come
from that pain. They write about lust, lust for him,

and lust for life. Lust that’s drained like water
going down the sewers, carrying the ***** matter of life,
a waterfall underground that’s dark brown. Her hands are covered
in it. They’re unstoppable just as much as any roach is.