I scavenge my body for growths, dead skin, artefacts
to be peeled, or pushed out and discarded
I do this because of a childish restlessness or a restlessness
I’ve had since childhood strangling my insides. The
town is full of strays like me, their protruding ribs are all I see,
hunched bodies groping the garbage so I know
they are starving like us. Like us they are dying slowly. I start
to distrust anyone who cannot see their body
for what it is – machine and marvel – an ecosystem
attempting to survive in another ecosystem
that bends it to the spinning will of the universe.
The hills are on fire and I do not understand
why my hands smell of smoke.