The architect confesses (spittlestrand hair)

I built a man
With a clockwork heart and gravel hands
He sees no color and hears no music
I let tumors clog a throat that leads
To a Moebius stomach

Castrated and engorged
Priapism of the mind
A victim of circumstance

I built a woman
With bathroom-floor skin and spittlestrand hair
Her breasts yield up poison
And I filled her skull with sobs and tears

Her womb is ripe with future
She waits and whispers

My hands shake
Stained, calloused hands
They know my guilt and my pride
They wait with her for grandchildren

With their clockwork hearts
And gravel hands
With bathroom-floor skin
And spittlestrand hair
They curse their maker
And sharpen their knives

The best of intentions
Spawn the foulest beasts
I deserve what’s coming for me
It will be a relief