HANDO
Were the blackened swirls and bones
He wore upon his skin
Meant as well to hide his soul
As much as horror win?
Lying deep within his chest
'Neath muscles coiled like springs,
Did there curl a little boy
Who'd tangled his kite strings
And on the way to tell his Mom,
Attacked by rabid dog,
Never finding his way home
But lost in some deep fog
Where if he never found again
That place where skies were blue,
He would survive, but only,
If convinced that it were true
That he was somehow better,
More worthy and more fit
Than others lost around him
Who were different, just a bit.
For his brain was really sharper
And his body fine of form,
So the fire that burned within him
Kept his ego nicely warm.
But...sometimes...just a patch of blue
Showed vaguely through his mist
And the boy whose strings had tangled
Never ended mother-kissed.
JO ANZALONE