BODY AS A GARDEN
My body is a garden
where things grow.
Luscious hair takes root,
woody nails,
curious scabs form,
moistness oozes from under the surface,
blemishes bloom forth.
My body is a prosperous garden
ready to be harvested,
alas, by Procter and Gamble.
BODY AS A LANDSCAPE
My body is a landscape
glazed over with a fine layer of sebum.
Careful not to smudge it.
Only note the creases,
the folds
where the land sighs
from the tactonic plates of posture,
necessity,
cramped lifestyle.
BODY AS DESPAIR
My body is subject
to everything.
The dust of the world settles on it.
No amount of baths can revive it
for more than a day.
My body is melting
into anarchic revelry,
drowning in its own sebum.
The dusts of pollution
settle upon it with delight
and together they weigh down
every hope of being young,
unattended, always pristine.
