Last Pew

I am not Enemy,
nor do I see Enemy
in China-blue eyes
that disagree with mine.

your fumbling
self-defining hatreds
do not apply to me.

within soot-blackened walls
you seperate yourself
from those who do
not style their hair
with as much care as you,
who do not wear their
rue with a difference.

I will not hide
behind your moldy fortress,
limit myself, my heart, my loves
by your narrow comfort fences.

let me open my blouse,
peel back the flesh,
unhinge the ribs
so you can see my heart.
round as a dinner plate
and pulsing in shifting rhythym
ribbons, every color and shade,
flowing out to embrace
all my gaze encompasses.

the clay of my humanity
is fired in the campfires
of a dozen generations,
a thousand tribes,
it gleams with thick glaze,
rich hue, potter's imperfection.