alittlepoison

I was brought with a beautiful face
It was unwrapped, macheted free
Of a nest of moist reeds
I wheel my eyeballs in it.

I was born face down in the river
My little hands held down
There I pursed and blinked
And it all became very smooth.

To force eighteen lies
A cold whistle of air
Dribbles condensation
Over my silver lips.

It’s so mirror clean
That we would wrap it back in strips
And under this damp weight again
I am.

And I wheel my senses within it.