i'm as beaten as the body that grew me out,
scraped me off,
and set my scoured flaky peel
in haphazard contrast to
the universe in working order.
my body-empire sprawls with incendiary horizons;
brain fluids crashing foamily upon the face-bones
for a sultry blush-
an adolescent girl
who suddenly irrevocably knows
ardent death by its pheromone,
its warping pulp poured warmly around her ribs,
plasticine and sweet from lip to thigh.
agitated genders abuse and vilify
each other with hearts too fat to love;
rising above their misconnected sex,
chemical disfigurement achieved the long way 'round.
prehistory has always been a fear,
having grown up automatically
without thought or provocation,
some seams on the suit continue to split.
© Copyright 2017 Caroline Michaud. All rights reserved.
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