When I knew you, everything I owned was chapped.
A wooden fence around my yard,
white with brown beneath.
Do you know that ache?
The dust covers of my books went peely.
My face did it too—
nose a terrible melon, mouth like Pompeii.
Not the crumbling but the moment before.
Like stepping on the lip of a canyon.
My insides went fluidic. If you
were to open my stomach, an ocean
would fall out. A deep-fried human
with something undercooked between skins.
But I am making the journey to smooth.
I no longer know your name.
Look how I become unfeathered.
My torso is runner's knee before the gun.
I am tooth; I will bite air.
When I knew you, I shook, unable to paint,
or smile, or stand. A polyphony of poor taste.
I thought it was nerves, but it was just
my skeleton starting to hatch.
