Your torso parked against a salmon gum.
Or, you as a terrified hero-horse, chest
ground against the earth.
You made by fat, drastic thumbs;
and a squiff of zinc for your fag-end.
Now you’re a bastard
you might as well dress like one
and eat the meat that bastards eat.
The distended spider hanging
from a mosquito coast; its network of tails.
The bear at the centre of the colosseum.
You as teal-coloured, graven
with signs of delta: whiplash, eel and parvenu.
The cup with two saucers.
Your shin as a root that rests
while the body walks on.
You as a hull fading into view.
Planed by the rush, sockets thrown,
your face coming away in my hands
like an anchor.
Falling through streets—pausing
to lick the page, wake
muffled in the crotch of a long gaze.