My gold tooth in my hand, the space it left behind
an indentation chalked with paste and sand—

My garment made of skin, held out at arm’s
length for the anatomist to see within—

My paper window shade, accordion drawn against
this faltering light: its outline parsed by fire.


In response to Via Negativa: Walking Dead.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.