And all the waves are lapping at the seabed, soft cheek and thigh
and belly fat of sand. They take quiet sips, flush and full with
stinging roughness, flush against the coolness of the cat tongued
shore
And there they cradle me, pea-hen gently, my hairline oiled
and slicked with salt. Light as a breath, I slip between the layers,
folding like a doll, or a cut of cloth,
And so the tide unfurls me along its swells, pulling my...

the ice-pick, the unwelcome visitor
drawn firm across the naves
and the steeple of my sight
-
so skinny as the wrist of a mill child,
watching in the dull heat, a shuttle
and its dust, ever passing back and forth
-
a ladle to a stranger, drinking the
conduit broth, a thing of glazed eyes
and filmy teeth, ground into a warp
-
into a weft of absolution, but only for me
only in the service of a stranger. ...

Flowers for Algernon-Daniel Keyes

A mentally disabled man undergoes a procedure that shoots him into genius. However, his newfound understanding doesn't guarantee his happiness, and the procedure may not be permanent. Although it was written in the sixties, Flowers for Algernon is modern in all but terminology. It is brilliant, beautiful, and gut-wrenching, full of insight into many facets of the human condition. It also features a disabled individual fiercely arguing their own personhood, and navigating the consequences of sexual...