Wia

Workin’ Away

Hands are so dry from latex gloves
maps for flesh bound cities that
don’t exist unless the work does,
lines around a lizard eye,
fantastic light bearing down on them,
making shadows hide their shame.

My limbs are crooked and uneven
like my foot size;
just enough to annoy me a little,
but lost on the casual observer,
they hold up the racked skeleton,
keep the unkempt uniform cloaked
body from falling out of it’s cage.

And yet
I’ve never quite been before
so entranced,
even in love
as I am now
with it all,

as I am now,
as I am now
with it all.

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