Enter your father—
a snow landscape of cocaine,
mountain arms of steroid use.
Enter Guns N’ Roses—
o’ sweet child o’ mine.
Enter a glittering revolver
dancing down the hallway.
Enter your hips
with a keystroke on a computer.
Enter the internet.
Enter your mother
hexagon of broken beer bottles
around a small body.
Enter your brothers
where mania rocks the house.
Enter the bruise of men.
Enter that you do not feel
in your body anymore.
Enter that you are trying to kill
everything beautiful about it
until not even God will want you back.