A Stitch in the
Side
Accuracy aches, going uphill. The sun peers down
on one's belly,
constricting it.
I am the sun.
That the sun shines down on me is my motto.
Motto: "one's guiding
principle." Guiding:
the sun leading me
uphill, the specific hill
where the blind lead the
blind
and a stitch is
eventually a suture.
Alias as Color
You are predisposed to forms of
measurement, and I have been
employed to thwart
you. I employ myself.
I measure my own flesh for distortion. Primary color, I observe,
is susceptible. 'Skin tone.' Red, blue, yellow. Predisposed to distort:
blend susceptibility to
baffle color.
Niche
I imagine I saw you
enter a room bare of
furnishing,
and then climb through
a small window
with effort.
As you climbed, your head, shoulders
and hips shrank
to fit the frame of
the window.
But the equivalent of a soul
emanated, rubbery,
around you, filling the
empty room, making the
window waver
as with the heat of
convections.
Though you climbed away, nevertheless
you radiated
backwards.
I imagine I saw you in this,
the hypothesized room,
the site that fits
each body as though
ultimate, the altar
at which each body
lies,
its
transubstantiation, its
remainder of crumbs.