billy pilgrim knows
knows what will
happen to me he
breathes down my
neck warm and
gentle my skin
prickling like
stepping into the
cold post-rain
autumn desolation
there is no why

plaids and dead
sheep have appeared
skin shields shilled
by the new age saviors
mellow melancholy
as everything crumbles
around me meat hooks
and bungee cords
billy pilgrim has
come unstuck in time

every look is a story
every story is too short
unless stretched to
translucence porous
and fragile tangled
in my hair like cobwebs
or a month of wearing
the same black hat
a bug trapped in amber

i am my legs eyes and
mouth and a broom
sweeping invisible hairs