“ . . . it became clear that torture often is carried out when a country ceases to believe in
itself, and therefore there is a certain element of spectacle involved in it.”
—Elaine Scarry
Adult-sized diaper taped to my frame, I laid stripped in the dark
Your hate never choked on my dignity it only sipped in the dark
Praying in filth I dreamt I was a breeze drinking flowers
Eucalyptus in place of forced enema that dripped in the dark
Desiccated, my tongue’s memory began to misunderstand itself
But teeth knew your latex hands as they chipped in the dark
Electrodes curdled my milk; I cradled a hungry pain in my arms
Searching for nipples that lay somewhere clipped in the dark
Thinning, my skin couldn’t protect against your sharp deliverance
Clothless my body gave in deep when whipped in the dark
My genitals were “those images that yet fresh images beget”
Zoomed-in your camera's heartbeat skipped in the dark
Hurry and snap a thumbs-up with your collateral damage
Unzip the bodybag and click before again I'm zipped in the dark
Asim, does evil turn on an axis? Does it have a body? Does it cry?
Call it whatever you like; just see that its bud’s nipped in the dark
