mirrors are knives

I don’t lookat myselfnaked-flapsof skin overmuscle bone-sinhiding in folds-Icould be airplanesmade of slip slide body-flyclose-never touch

I can pretend-mybreasts are not minemy legs are-notmy own

xenomelia maybe-cutcut cut until gray fleshmelts spinsrecycle shred recycle

carve the fatroast what is left-meltuntil my bones resemblemetal sculptures oneadmires in Greek gift shops

some girls

I am nothinga speck of skinstretched over fatover bone-I suspectI am a figment-a notperson-parts do notmatch to parts-mybody is a blueprint

when I am gonesomeone will sweepme up with broomand dustpan-myashes brushed asidemy room echoing withthe sound of sighs

monochrome

outside my windowbuildings of teethspace space spaceuneven face-crookedmissing molar-fenceposts fence postsmy kingdom of weedssome split in halfgrown wild-thickinvading split metalceiling

we are adding a graveyardstick crosses markunmarked graves-webury books in eachsmall mounds of green molddirt disturbed maybeauthors trying to digat spines and bodies-swarmsof words unwanted-endingsambiguous

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Day 21

April 21, 2015

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