Monday, November 17, 2008


The skin becomes concave
where it is pierced- deflated
without the frame (but I was
stretched still and nailed down.
Reconstructed in a new place.)
A view of the stomach, but that
is all. Bleeding later- my knee
like a child's, one bruised,
one bleeding. Places unmentionable,
what stretches open while the mind
swims on the floor. I fell,
just stay down here, tiled. I say
Finito (things out of order-
the toilet, floor, bed, kitchen,
these things rearrange themselves).
Where did I start? Whole, pieced
together, compared to
the naked nymph in Piazza Signoria.
Look at those legs, those legs, those eyes.
And even earlier, ciao bella, I love you,
You don't have to be Cleopatra everyday.
Ma ho finito, naked nymph.
Toilet, floor, bed, kitchen, how these things


Colin Welch said...

I like how the language itself is disorienting - it mirrors the disorientation felt by the Erzaehler. I don't feel like I can see the "ing" used in the title, but I also can at the same time, because of the various skewed images.

Tasha said...

It's good that you picked up on the disorientation.

Colin Welch said...

Thanks Tasha. The poem spoke to me in ways I can't describe. =P