i mock Myself

from the corner of the room where
i can slither my gaze round the sheer, tawny tims
of my comfort zone
stretching the curious membrane of
my unhindered recollection

willow-legged, fed by
smoke and sweat and electrolytes
a reservoir of lost rhythms and beats that
have fallen through the floor

i am a tripping indian, krupming
on a hotbed of carnivore teeth

every cell in my body dancing
every organ hustling itself

07/2011