Everyone who enters sees his mess.
That’s where the minotaur unloads his waste.
He never asked to be or be grotesque.
Everyone who enters sees his mess.
He can’t afford to hoard—he tossed his bust
of Pallas, every holey sock, and happiness.
He never asked to be or be grotesque—
yes, even to himself. He dreams of closets,
enough to store a bangle or a lover’s dress
or everyone who enters and sees the mess.
Part of his clutter is others: their tongues, their debts,
their whimpered prayers, their flaking flesh.
He never asked to be or be grotesque.
The maze once had a mirror. He broke it
and joined the shards into a new mosaic
showing how he’d like to see himself:
a maker, someone who might be missed.
Everyone who enters sees his mess.
He never asked to be or be grotesque.
Charlie Green's writing has appeared in Image, The Southeast Review, and The Missouri Review, among other venues. In 2021, his poetry collection Feral Ornamentals was published by Finishing Line Press. He teaches writing at Cornell University and hosts the Talking Poem Podcast.
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