A.j. Binash - One Ugly Motha *****

Why do I taste blood
Each time I stroll
Into a stranger’s vantage point?
Do backwards peripherals
Intimidate conversation
To fingers crossed dialect?
Is paranoia ruffling my eyelashes
Protruding my chest
Like a threatened ape?
We speak. I speak. They speak.
Using the folds of skin
On our knuckles
As a mouth. Stuttering conversation
As the skin ripples
When joints operate.

Of course this also happens
When I look in the mirror.

A.j. Binash

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/one-ugly-motha/