Misogynist

[Aish]

Two red eyes are stuck to the black
of my childhood, in the foreground of the frame,
my stereo and dirty books hovering behind.
Since nineteen I've been tunelling back I think it's spelled 'tunneling'. It's a fantastic device, tunneling back in time.
through the months, then years towards
her body like a lone island.

When we met on the patio
your bracelets caught the sun. Fugitive beams 'Fugitive beams' and 'dying ice' are gorgeous.
bathed in your glass, propped against the dying ice.
And I had tunnelled all day long I like how you are tunneling again, reinforcing your theme.
to reach you there mother,
hiding yourself in this prettier form.

All women share the same spirit, like the strain of some disease
ploughing through the rat kingdom.
So her, the bitch, creator and scum,
who bore me like a dead tumour, This is such a harsh strophe, and yet eloquently rendered. You did a wonderful job here, Jack. I am wondering about your use of 'flow', though. A tumor would be more static.
flows among your bones.

Your punishment is still a germ, evolving all the time.
Regardless what you say, my dear, you're her, you're her, you're her.

Quite an embittered end. I am quite fond of this, even more so than 'Lynda'.