i'm peeling back the skin now,
if only because i'm finding more and more every day
that i know less what to do with it.
it's automatic personality syndrome.
who knows what to call it?
my bones are stretching out past the vanishing point in the horizon,
our past my vision and i've broken into a full run to see where they're going,
if only to find that everything skeletal i need is right here.
all the miles of concrete i've milled over,
all the walls in all the halls i've dreamed,
all the inches of flesh i've lusted over
all account for something in the measure
of the area
on the surface
of this little glass heart.
i'm peeling back the skin now, doc
(it's the only time my hands don't shake)
to see what it's connected to
and i'm finding more and more
i know what to do with it
i know where to kiss it when it scales,
i know how to caress it when it festers
and all the pointed little freckles?
i know to follow them.
i'm shining all the skin now,
on this little glass heart.
i'm finding more and more,
maybe it isn't glass at all.