this spring there is little left
i have lost my crown
the soft animal of my body

this summer i seem small
splayed unspeakable
a misplaced child
quite nauseous, needy
for damage & healing

at night i feel full of needles
half full with ice water and very far
out to sea or under it

i imagine being held
behind glass fixed
in a shallow pool of smiles
hoping to be very valuable
one day see
how i glide
on the surface of things

i imagine being cracked
like a promise
along the hairline
and watching nothing hatch

sadness is an infection

to peel is to unpeel
to skin to deskin to become

to hatch means to allow
the small animal out
or is it a virus
or is it a concealed opening
means to escape

i run myself ragged and wait
to get caught on the edge
and unspool
like razor wire


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