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
Rearrange.
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3 comments:
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.
It's good that you picked up on the disorientation.
Thanks Tasha. The poem spoke to me in ways I can't describe. =P
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