PINS
i.
The stinging hum of blood re-circulating
I killed all my nerves, for what but a moment
of comfort from my tormentor. A meat cleaver
to fingers joint by joint by joint, no grasp but gore
and I felt none, a man fileted

ii.
Or cleaned. A deer you shot with your dad, you
told me once, the bright lung-blood, the venison
in your freezer. A quick death more humane than
any slaughterhouse. Your duty, now that the woods
have emptied of wolves

iii.
In heaven, sexless angels feed each other, hands
stretched into lips that do not bite. The vision gone
opaque for me, since I bit. Condemned to solitary
kitchen tile where my body curls, stiff and shuddering
with the buzz of skin coming alive

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Hershel Burgh is a queer, Jewish trans man based out of Northwest Arkansas.  He lives with his partner in a one bedroom apartment that has no drawers and one cat.