Poetry of Jonny Alexander Nay

Whom is inside, your metal body hide.  Tendon, become, not red, but black,  presume.  That body, bind, and wide  Can only move so fast.  To hide.  I have two wings.  one is black, the other red.  For there is something stuck inside my head.  That hands so large, couldn't not befall.  That snakes inside my body,  or darkness,  or thousands guns and knives.  I swear.  Could not deprive.  The earth is small, and man is weak.  and the mountains will break and crumble.  and what becomes of their hates?  What is it, that moves you inside?  What is it, that you think is alive.  What body, do you really know.  The strain and stretch, and punishment. 

I remember sitting up on the hill, A cool breeze, wet as the lake below, Gently caresses the sage and yellow around me. My father stands, below, I cautiously watch them. Talking, and Pointing around the valley. Fathers Camping Day* They saw me standing up there. Lol Moving in between sage brush, Placing a small foot on white and black speckled stones. One father was a hunter, Whom collected deer skulls. The valley moaned for me. They listened. Not so much to the test, Of their own heart, or breath. But to the movement of my blood. My confusion… “Come on, we’re going now!” They wave me with some fury, Which is really soft, I swear. As the down of little ducks. Whom are following mother. Whom are collecting deer skulls. As a test, to their own hearts. My confusion.

Live!  As I did live!  and give,  a whole for me.  Waves of gold, and green  the eye that sees. Mother? Does the river run to the sea?  if it first does not come  to be? 

I am sorry. My legs are large now, and my back is sore. My mouth has grown, and is quiet, by a bell which tolls. I am breath, but I am drowning For you are not here. so I am sad. You see the mountains are large, and I am a still. I see you standing there, torn by a battle against you. And you lie, and are shaken. Did you ever care? Did, I ever give you enough time? Will I ever get to kiss you on the forehead. Or will you withdraw into nothing. For men in relationship to patriarchy, I don’t believe in failures. Only betrayal. Largely of the self. If there is a failure, it is a societal one: of institutions, and culture, and the reject of a way of categorizing, and comparing human beings to the murder. Most men are raised to be killers in this society, the loss of life that haunts men, and chaos and turmoil *socioemotionally that emerges, when they are forced into these rigid roles, is terrifying, degrading, and dehumanizing. All men, are resentful and de