I caught him in the act once
not him
but one of him
in his gray hoodie with the hood up
dull red pin eyes pissed
staring at me
angry at my audacious haughtiness
that I would dare call him
on his vulgar defacement of private property
scalpel up his sleeve
as he moves it against the window
scratching his impotence against glass
the ultimate gesture of limp powerlessness
a flaccid attempt
upon the iron cunt of the world
his insipid weakness
churns the rage in my guts
an insuppressible sudden urge to violence
this fucking criminal
is challenging my gaze
his thick, slow tongue
struggles within its monosyllabic cage
to articulate a single word
“What?” he says
but I won’t look away
he tries to project hardness
he succeeds
but I know him
know he is soft where it matters
and the advantage is mine
as I take it from him
and push it all deep inside


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