Portrait of A Grief

you can begin to carve it out of me:
                         I am rendered a scuff.
                         the big eyes canvas a plan to carry on
                         but they only mottle and rattle blankly
                         with my goatskin and rag cheeks
                         I gum my tubes together as they swell purple
                         I plug my guts as their sweat dries
                         I weld my mouth into a pin
                         I sear the crown of my head
                         my pig-tongue lashes gulp
                         my vulva squeaks
                         my ptosis warbles
                         my ears twitch their wonky symmetry
                         I am tunic’d, scratched, ossifying potentialities
                         their legs splayed for entombing
                         I shave them gone from the root
                         my cold follicles carry the rough dune
                         the soft tufts gnarl in between
                         I look into me and curl foetal
                         I sit tight and compress
                         my whole edifice shatters
                         the big eyes falter
                         they beg questions:
                         what else can I skin
                         what else can I bury
                         what else can I end