Dysecdisis

They showed us the skin,
ivory as parchment, traced
with a grid of shadows
like chain mail: not one
clean unblemished sheet
or sheath, but a rough
garment peeled off
in patches, slow
disrobing for the new
still writhing to break
loose of that dead self—

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← A leaf falls,From tree to tree →

Leave a Reply