metamorphoses
sometimes the air, like my restless metamorphoses.
tendrils sprouting from between my toes, green leafy ones, vines that grow thick and fast and try and wind themselves around any stationary structure nearby.
the ensnarements of wet skies above dry pavements, and the click of metal on my teeth. (bite down again, hard and cold and familiar.)
a lonely italian cheesemaker in an amsterdam basement. a bottle opener to take back to chicago. a handful of american coins. i think we disappointed him with our sleepy eyelids.
webs between my fingers so i can paddle across whatever seas i please.
my hair is growing arms and legs to wave in every direction like fuzzy antennae trying to sense something in the air. (sometimes the air, like my restless metamorphoses.)
shirts without armpits! or necks! pants without zippers! scarves full of holes! everything falling apart just to soften the edges. attempts at new constructions. etch something into my skin like it's wood or maybe just thick sheets of construction paper in every color you can think of.
our obsessive outputs and the ways we try and control them - i want to hear you tiptoe across taut strings again, that faraway glint in yr eyes. i will always be the sheep who bows out and goes off to bake cookies instead. (i burned my eyelashes half off to perfect my asymmetry.)
the air here is conducive to getting out of tune.
tendrils sprouting from between my toes, green leafy ones, vines that grow thick and fast and try and wind themselves around any stationary structure nearby.
the ensnarements of wet skies above dry pavements, and the click of metal on my teeth. (bite down again, hard and cold and familiar.)
a lonely italian cheesemaker in an amsterdam basement. a bottle opener to take back to chicago. a handful of american coins. i think we disappointed him with our sleepy eyelids.
webs between my fingers so i can paddle across whatever seas i please.
my hair is growing arms and legs to wave in every direction like fuzzy antennae trying to sense something in the air. (sometimes the air, like my restless metamorphoses.)
shirts without armpits! or necks! pants without zippers! scarves full of holes! everything falling apart just to soften the edges. attempts at new constructions. etch something into my skin like it's wood or maybe just thick sheets of construction paper in every color you can think of.
our obsessive outputs and the ways we try and control them - i want to hear you tiptoe across taut strings again, that faraway glint in yr eyes. i will always be the sheep who bows out and goes off to bake cookies instead. (i burned my eyelashes half off to perfect my asymmetry.)
the air here is conducive to getting out of tune.