talk empty in gather, in social bureaucracies of dissected distractions we are ants on the scalp of a schizophrenic we will trample over anything to find the bone with the most meat we descend into the earth as we wrinkle and wane, a moon body of bumps and craters old eruptions dyslexic in its folding in young skin, we take fish out of water just to taste its gasp threading with its last light we use everything we can to forget the reality of this miracle of lungs and love when you whisper, you disturb sleep when you cover up, you are the original sin flesh is a coffin words are your limbs
