“For this too is the lot of man.”— Siduri the Wine Maker, Gilgamesh
If strippers are a kind of walking wounded,
Where do all our crippled menfolk go
To hide between the worm and green corn moon?
The crystal lattices of movements grow,
Cocoons for broken roots that fossilize
Those brittle sticks we wave around as swords.
All the truths you tell in masks are lies.
Your righteous anger’s only helplessness.
Find your feet, my broken brothers—rise!
No boy becomes a man who can’t confess
Those faults and flaws that rob him of his force,
Or misdirect it, making him a beast.
Hold a door or fight a war, the source
Of who we are at last is sacrifice,
Deny it and the man in you is lost.
Numbers is a new weekly column by poet and journalist Curt Hopkins. “Numbers” is an historic term for poetry, and also alludes to the numbers in programming. This week’s poetic commentary is on the topic of Gamergate.
Featured Image Gamergate via KnowYourMeme