Innocence

Jayne Fenton Keane

    they visit you as fraudulent conservators
    blueprints and integrity at the ready
    as they scrub your pubic hair down to the bone
    and sketch a white frame around your sex
     
    they hang your image between synthetic palms
    lather you with sepia and civilization
    but you have already washed your disciples
     
    have fractured their angels
    in your stainless steel sink

    
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