Skeletons Entering Paradise
Published in Everyone's a fucking poet! 1995
You ran away from your own skin & stumbled over mouthless crowds, buildings with geometric façades & an emphasis on urbane cosmetics that made you itch & you made your escape to the heart of the map of my space. I was born a structure of bones, nicely fit, no longer soft to the touch, almost human. I hid my bare essentials with books & a past that I made up as I went along, progressing with haste in the art of storytelling, skeletal as I was, & full of spine but no flesh to back it up, to fill out the curves of discontinuity that summarize the information on a face. You dashed into my language field & stood at the horizon holding a sign marked SILENCE. I scraped my skull clean searching for an answer, finally throwing up my hands to pull storm clouds from the sky, the cover of darkness for fear of the unknown. Your shadow stripped away, I saw you naked on the concrete plane. You took it for response & moved towards me, surrounding yourself with everything you love or hate. I thought myself an arrow & flew in your direction. I thought myself an angel & landed, divine. We danced on pins balancing atop the city, the network of faces, flesh & bone.
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