My ostentatious limbs churn

As if to fashion cream of air

Substance of translucency

Costumed amongst transients

I slip between reels of neon

A cunning starlet underfed

To seduce the archaeologists

Lovers of bone and ruination


Until I am thin

I shall not dress to define,

I shall not dress at all

A dimpled moon rotating stoically

In an onerous black cloak

I shall employ only enormity

To disguise, to disguise

The truth of my loneliness

Perfection is so bony,

So sharp

A pair of trousers woven

Of a solitary thread