Nude Male with Echo


If my knuckles
were still in their original
alignment, a row slowly
cresting in the middle
of my hands,
their constellation
by the first breath
as opposed to many
big bangs,
then their movement
could be predicted.
I hold no idea of the destiny
of the backs of my hands.

Gloves are useless.
I would look ridiculous
with them on now.
I don’t wear a condom
to hide the experiences
of my penis. I should
have done that more
before my twenties.
I should have raised
my penis with more care.
Those scars are always
remembered too well
to tell the stories
of the healing that followed.

I took one hair from a tulip
& left it on the top of my head
where my own hairs first
scattered. I looked like a fool.
I am not a flower or a flowering.
I am covered in the atmosphere
of my own time being tender
enough to watch myself age.
Darren C. Demaree is the author of six poetry collections and the Managing Editor of the Best of the Net Anthology and Ovenbird Poetry. He is currently living in Columbus, Ohio with his wife and children.