Cut down, I swim up
Each limb rising
Till I know the separateness of me
Each part, a butcher’s cow
Each limb rises
Smoke, ether, ash
Climb the stairs through nightime
And if you shift your head to the left
You change from Florence Nightingale to Faerie Ball
Only I push through the velvet.
How often does no-one see?
It’s a waste to slide between electrified sheets
And join the others farting –
Become the unit once more of milk and toothbrush
Each limb rises, caressing its own circle
And I grimace
Not to be interesting
Or ‘yeah I think I’ve got that one. On vinyl somewhere.’
If I could scrub myself of expectations
I would – clean. To the bone of each limb rising.
Till then I’ll dance in the dark.