• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 11
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I Have No Body

it would appear I have this
unquenchable need to fix myself
into something that could almost

be something else if you squint
fleetingly through the foliage
of the shy canopy and look

at me through the smoke
and mirrors I have arranged
amongst the dense clay trees.

my malleable self has learnt
it as a way of defence, twisting
the form into whatever offers

the least resistance and most
satisfaction as long as it’s
kept at arm’s length to avoid

the detection it’s a mismatch
forced together with nothing to
keep the seams falling apart.


I Have No Body

instead I can remain attractive
to the people who don’t get
close enough to notice how I’m

jammed together, or my texture
isn’t what it should be for my
form like they’ve eaten something

sweet but wince at my sourness
and balk at the other people’s
fingerprints still shaping me.