After the reading
I speak, read and write myself into being,
every cell afloat in an interstitial fluid
of anxiety, alcohol and poetry.
Clothed in notebooks, my word.doc skin
stretches over hunched shoulders.
I decompose with each touch of delete.
Bookshelves calcify my shape,
an articulation of bones under draft flesh
relentlessly edited then rewritten.
I exist in text, quietly expressive,
in constant flux of desire and fear
at the exposure of publication.
I liked this a lot, esp 'I decompose with each touch of delete' and 'I exist in text, quietly expressive'. Great lines.
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