Friday, March 25, 2016


The sun sets on an unbroken hide, an unblemished skin.
But something worms its way in, digs itself a burrow,
then curls up to sleep inside this cavity, this pouch,
this greasy envelope.

A paper-lined drawer in the abdomen
The body riddled with secret compartments
Hollows and hiding places, false bottoms built into
this fleshy bureau, this leather steamer trunk
And stashed in the back of the bone closet sits
a tattooed radio topped by a speaker hissing static
its tongue running over the sharp ends
of snapped diodes and splintered antennae

A knot in the limb, a sinkhole in the asphalt,
a mouth in the frozen dunes spitting sand.
A whirlpool tries to fill the belly of the sea,
a black hole sucks at space's milky teat.

With a start the little thing wakes and yawns
and stretches, crawls untranformed from its chrysalis
to bask in the morning sun and warm
its unbroken hide, its unblemished skin,
not feeling the little thing that worms its way in.

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