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when in the fits of clothes shopping, make sure your measurements
are equal to your age divided by the prime
number nearest your birth
and the floor will become a dandy thing strewn with light and mittens
when you hold the mirror up ask your face what you
think you should know then quest for half
a lifetime to find what you thought
you needed was only the form of the quest
filled out to the last page and initialed
or someone else's hints about things other people
thought before in caves and curtains
and drew accordingly or kept on hold
for long enough that it seemed fashionable
that you peruse them and fashion
itself a broadened light
or quite possibly you are a better human
being than I am and willing
to quiet all the rules
and the border of the mirror is a thing to look beyond, the things a body sings
when in the winter, make the fires like you know your job
is not to be cold
and the body stings, the body
when you are unable to reach your Chicago
colleagues because of a city fire phased
evacuation procedure, don't look to the phone for answers
it is an exercise I will notify you when
they have returned
and the building is a popular place to hang your life-suit up for houses and for hours
when you hold the bored and appled curve
of the globe, not the former department
store gutted in the crumb and bumble
of Scranton, PA but the remnant switch
of what our world spits out—
info wards of noise and space in numbers
and the populace is flaunted like a base of ditzy clouds
when interred in the galloping prattle
of songstreams and informative images
of warring remnants, an economic chest
wound in the shape of air ported and pure,
the wings a subtle nod to lingua
blank the bodice and 10,000 things flailing,
or when the womp and struggle have scrapped
your husks, you lid-heavy and thoughtful sleeper,
the pain of life no different now from when
all creatures simplified by want were years
and years removed from us
and now is flourishes of flush and gutter—the afterparty spilled of drink, the drink itself
when the beer's tentacled, the cock's crowing the labels
frayed from excessive pulling at corners
the corner's jumpable all up and down
the blocks both city and wooden, your hand
is sore from losing teeth or touch with
itself or some other hand it had grown
fond of feeling
and thin are the spaces between here, and here wearing skin enough
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