by nathan gale
My skeleton is four walls. My hands are doors that can open and close, people come and go. My hair is sunlight combed into place across my body; my breath is a sleeping cat. My heart is a window, you can feel the wind if you open it. A little man inhabits the contents of this body moving from this thing to that. He is fat and wears loose clothing about himself. There is a computer where miniature women meet together like goldfish, and he has learned the way of caressing them without harming them with his touch.
One day he is decorating, placing a long mirror across from me. I look only to see I am a deer head, mounted on a bare wall; and thats all I know.