Body,
We are submerged. Just floating
in some shadow’s saline.
Our skin filters through the night’s
atomic thickness like a sand-storm.
Cracked, flickering,
brain flicked off, stars shorted-out.
We are snapped. Our dendrites
disconnect like the constellations
of a dead mythology.
But still, still—
a tendon, a bending back-bone and a blink.
Alphabetical anatomy:
I = spine
O = eye


Body,
When will the form make sense? A lamp
makes sense, a shade of sense,
a haloed lampshade, some halogen,
shades of blue... We’re drunk
on some tungsten again. The costume covering bones
is dark, yet diaphanous. Body,
why did you make me
play the part of the shadow-puppet again?
Every contortion tangles the sheets,
every twitch of a leg
represents delirious running in a dream
away from you.