I coat my dermis with wax,

subsisting on air

and the occasional drop of tepid water.

Once vivid, I slip between the rungs

of her skeletal frame.

My ever-present, ever-dying companion.

You dip in and out of my margins,

tearing at my inedibles.

Whatever human implies

I want no part of it.

My thoughts are too weedy

and nefarious for broadcast,

still you plunge, eyes open,

into the reaches of

my inconsequential detritus.

All answers are theoretical;

proven, debated, disapproved.

The only truth one can rely on

is that chaos undresses without

ever revealing its intentions.

My freckles wilt like logs

In a steady, recumbent fire.

There’s no mystery, no riddle,

only a mawkish face oozing

with contradictions and contagions;

too oblong to be glamorous.

Time has a taste for puzzles.

Each day he tears off a little piece

of what might have been,

and fills in the gap with an X or a O.

As if to say it’s all a game, isn’t it?

Another submission piece, I was away all day (Midsommer) and didn’t get a chance to write anything new.


9 responses to “Skinny

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