There’s nothing for me here
in this world: the word, the hand, the gaze.
I’m a stone and they are stones to me.
Bring this empty air
to the cave,
my home.
What else to do but do it,
but burn, scratch
pictures on the walls.
Switch my skin for robes, for rags.
Switch my fur for skin, grind my teeth,
eat my lips, tear my limbs from limbs.
Bury my life, lift my face,
wail, wonder, wait
give and take,
lie, float, and say.
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