STRANGE CREATURE

Thirteen days  
Is all it took to be me
Twenty years
Was blinded but I can see
How we go
And care for nobody else
I reach out
I wanna be under you spell

Severed to my bits in clay bungalow,
  
square foot gullet impressed by gemstones areolas  
spun to a knocker.  
Welcome.
Bolus sputtered up through the bricks of water snake engravings of the colon.      
   
In redeem of welfare expense...        
       
My mouth puckered on the inside stretcher of the cinder heap of ears and feet jerked by nerve to a keystone.        
The pelvic crest saw entrants through,        
streaming shaved tangles of hair through the coccyx for the wind's whistling chimes.        
       
Though a few digit tips impaled from the floorboard on the drifter's corns,
an elbow mimed drape rod        
as
one bicep, curled by the myson pivot of mortar crease,
bulged into the spinal links of the creaking door.

Our barons come.

At the heat of mold aged beading
from the drunk ceiling tit of one pec plaster,
mice scratched through the paper canvas and hooked my tongue by an overbite,
flailing in the mucous adhesive cement and slab,
whose uvula breathed into a blowfish lung in the aqua tank royal hall
to emit the gas of utterance
while the eye saw from the china set

the bony man with his teeth prodded in a globe of the unassumed realm
and coffee leaves of simmered sweat,
patted not from down his neck dry as Saint Augustine's relic shrine,

as to essay by the disembodied creeping mouth, across the coackroaches' summer rut,
stung by a grapevine of the omnipresent poor,
the oral tradition of ears on a wall.

The antidote to drifting
keystrokes
to excitement
dulled
by pornography
derivative
of misogynistic
brainwashing
I arrived here
bashful at first
taking cues
from confident
seamstresses
stitching their
fantasies
and coercing
me to cross
the threshold
to say
and show a little more
the handle
- my anonymous presence
carried some resonance
with others
hiding
from complicated matters
this need
for retreat
to let the future self
reconcile a past life.

she fell into the deep
not having any idea what  
she might find
for her it was a place
to release pent up stories
sometimes too raw to share aloud
her pen easily found strength
marking page after page
here, her voice was found
in writing it out  
it was her means of escape,
she could hide here among strangers
who knew only her thoughts
shared in the only way  
she knew how  
here, her words could flow  
releasing memories,
inspirations she may
or may not choose to look at again
a place she felt welcome in
with no judgement
just guidance,
so she stayed