Shapeless Skin

Fleshworld

A series of plagiarisms:
for sweat is derivative,
the salt of labors layered
(so frank that it turns
its aching back away from
the eye in all its nakedness).
It writes in forgeries,
the already-said
of body-mind,
möbiusing itself
like he who learns
the unbearability
of his own touch.

Expansion,
closure –
the breathing
of a fleshworld
in its fullness
second-hand.

Epistle to the Body in Pain

I am amazed, body, that you have
not buckled into ruins,
you who bear with
the manifold
impressions that
become wholly
different marks
when given the
proper conditions.

Damnable gestation,
this thing called stigma:
repeated strikings because
the word is so much like a lash.
 

Ippo

Mark my
slowness,
steps aleatory:
ippo, ippo
so unlike
the gliding
I was taught
by staff.
Yet I still
dare to long,
to crave a
place in the
peopled
kingdoms
even if there
may be none so
shaped like me.

Epistle to the Body in Pain and Ippo first appeared in Queen Mob's Teahouse.