this poem
is written in
the contour
of my
body
to represent what
shoulders against me and how
they pit inside me. I can't quite nearly
explain how impeccable this here poem
needs to be for this plan to work out
perfectly, but i hope you can stomach
the sappiness of this cliché plummet
from my head to the toe, to my, (well,
you know). So obviously by now
we've gotten down to the belt
of my body-shaped feelings
i was telling you about
these things are my
legs, on top of which
i stand, and by now
we're near the bottom
according to plan
the things which
support me like
a right hand
man. It's the
little things
that count
like lying
down in
the sand.