land of thread & tangle

i search myself for threads to pull.
a finger across a hip
around a wrist. the ridge of my shoulder.
the seam where my neck 
meets my head. 
my skin is made from a bolt of fabric
that changes patterns each day.
this poem is not about 
unraveling though it could be.
i pull out stray strings all the time 
from clothing & from my body.
once i pulled one out of my hat 
slow, as if i were extracting a tooth.
still, the whole hate peeled apart.
a severed heart. i keep both halves
in the closet in case they 
return to each other. but really
most of the time nothing happens.
i want to know where the threads
come from & what their purpose is
if not to hold a body together.
i'm picturing a realm of only loose threads.
all different colors serpent in piles.
the sun is loose golden yarn. 
sometimes i think about how
without muscle we would just lay like 
unassembled tents. i pulled 
one fiber from my ankle this morning.
i held my breath. green cord
from my body. i thought
haha maybe i'm a trap door.
i saw all my lovers falling into me 
& towards the world of thread.
who else is there? 
maybe my grandfather with his rickey cane 
& maybe mounds of trinkets:
horse shoes & book ends &
plastic spider rings. the cable
exited my skin easily. no blood.
just release. i checked my body 
for more but found none.
i inspect each day. i guess 
in a way i kind of hope one string
will sunder me apart. me: reduced to
swatches of clothe. neatly folded
i would like to be a quilt maybe
in my next life.