A thread pulls, to unravel a dressing, and somewhere beneath the filaments:a carnival of skin.
Reciting poemsabout a life that feels unadorned,a resilient beast — a dumbwaiter of sorts
Spit in palm and, make a deal,to grasp a contract with a worn-down wheel.When you would rather drift away,into a lateral flight……
Provenance is a trick,a tailor-made tale for the touristthat flock, to gawkat my vacillations.
Always move onwards, outwards, sometimes with Godor with easier company.
I can shed anything,apart from myself —
Forgive me, for in my sleepI am infested
I know that I had fallenas a good fruit should;to strike the groundwith my fructose goodness,my sweetness, with nary a bruise.