i used to be a whole. maybe not in this life
but in others. i stood for a portrait 
& a painter made a butterfly bush of me.
color coming in tongues. oil paint. dried plums.
i have given up all joy i found in being tangible.
now, i crave a tracing paper life. skin swims with shrimp.  
frosted winter windows. i keep only a finger in this world 
& all the rest in the next. forfeit my shadow.
i wake up early so i can hold my phantom hours. 
move about the house. a centipede. a moth.
find myself in the front lawn. cars pass &
their headlights walk right through me.

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