Even for him this choice
is an insufficient measure
of design. "I'll not say it
again, We aren't wind-up toys!"
All while I
am an unrepentant broken leg.
When the serpent grew
podus, 'else that in
reverse, whose the mid
-dling link
hobbling on little nubs?
I feel broken inside of the
torso. Not like fey Sebastian,
but as something physically
beaten to death, or like Job so
there's no punctures, no dribble
of blood, just a holder of broken
stuff.
I am fluff
I'm the, too, unrepentant
caprice of this stuff floating.
I am crimson, anyway
I am bloody, bloody thrush.
I am brothers sit-
ting on the couch.
