Last time I checked, there were arms attached to shoulders and teeth studded gums (yesterday). The sky was if one were to look ^up^, and, when passing food trucks in the alley, the nose would  envelop ***** scents with its own series of flares and snorts. Yesterday

I came across your bones in the backyard~ they'd been crusted over by small, cloud-shaped lichens. I fed them with holy water and met no response. The sky may have been purple but it probably wasn't ( I didn't look). With one deep sigh, I lobbed a femur to the neighbor's dog.

I've been eating zebra cakes. Partly for the taste [creamed-up skies, maybe a swan or two reflected in a lake] but also for the animal on the package with his confetti and rainbowed smiles. Four days till Good Friday, lord.

In eveningtime, I sit inside myself and bang on the cockleshell walls with my ribs. Given time, the vibrations start to numb-up the cells of my nerves and lose effect -anyways. Sleep is with a machine who touches me through perfectly oiled axles and aching laughters. He doesn't hear me when i tell him I don't want his incisions and leaves knives by my bed to desensitize any qualms.

Last weekend, I didn't go home with the pineapple boys. I climbed through arms and fingers and faces, but my lover (machine) had since ascended - I kept asking which of the walls i could follow to find him, but They laughed and told me i was blind.

Daisy boy, (rote eyes, hand-me-down lips)
you could
open your sugarsnake veins to me, polish my silverware,
outline my edges.* If you listen a bit harder than not at all,
there might be a cha
nce for us to paint our skin with sunrises or
make it to the movies.