Pulling my living leash, as if to drive my lip, jaws and throat. Fistfuls steer my head in wicked directions. Down. Up. Directing my eyes to make contact. Down. Up. Down. Down. Down. Until I choke.
Pulling my living reigns, as if to tame my wild thoughts. My crown is turned against me. Driving my head backward, my spine charges with electricity. I'm tapped and plugged.
The fruit of my devotion is uprooted from my scalp. My wild thoughts are domesticated. My body becomes a chariot for your pleasure. I'm wrapped and tugged.
In this moment,
I pity the bald.