If clothes make the man I am a snake slithering through your office baring fangs filled with poison my tie around my neck trailing down the hallway in my alligator shoes or laughing in a striking ball in the dark corner under a desk the object of my desire a bare ankle or flexing bicep or falling dollar bill from the inside pocket of your fat suit jacket soaking up the sunlight through windows without breath and you may catch my tail as I round a corner but it will grow back in denim cotton silk polyester wool muslin leather rayon naked the sidewinding slime of my passing your fashion nightmare but one ever knows when a god becomes disgusted smiting comfort in a uniform perhaps a skirt with apple print or blue blazer tasseled loafers khaki slacks argyle socks cuff links on monogramed shirt crotchless panties cock ring and nipple clamps whatever makes comfort under oppression and the horse never changes color or the tiger its stripes or the snake its skin the language of the “fuck you” as it adopts a chameleon pose in the high backed chair.

Brad writes in the Great Northwest. He fills his home with art, music, photography, plants, rocks, bones, books, good cookin’ and love. He has published poetry, art, photos, essays and articles in many quality publications. 2013 & 2018 Pushcart Prize nominee.