nudity is a May poem, a reflection on finding a way to be tiny and comfortable within this big, big world where everyone is alone, yet no one is.
nudity – a May Poem
skin is like the rippling shoal of a lake on the run from frost and the sun she can't bear to wear winter or not having ducks paddle across her face turns cold and blankets the shore glad of the rain. she slipped on zero syllables and told no one about the moles in her trenches her drapes, a bachelor in applied physics, her gloves a string of babies her curtains cooking broth at the shelter on Sundays. to slide through the traffic i oil up the engine i glide across the low road hearing nothing but daisies growing on my arms i have somewhere to be someone to broach i will nestle on someone's chest for a while in the shape of a gemstone flower, quartz petals and a green marble ovule i will cling on with a safety-pin and make beautiful the way she made my eyes glimmer with her lame jokes. the other day a big bear gave me a share of his honey we were having a beer and salty pretzels outside where the sun melts stares mid-square but only right there in the thick of people. proximity is the absence of nudity like when he peppers her head or we throw balls and it rains cake on our shoulders then like always muck and cobwebs turn out diamond floors, fields of cotton, buds of bread and butter, slice by slice we toast with nothing but a warm breeze in between. she can erect her stem and flaunt her pistil, her petals basking the tiny filaments of meadows yet to swaddle us.