Carving Pumpkins

The paradox in folds of skin. Unraveling. Her weight heavy on this forgotten dimension. Missing dandelions from the grass. As I study the confection of her lips. For traces of confession.

Paths. Confounded. By the awkward transitions of touch. I found them. Ambivalent wizards building their roads with yellow bricks. Her dream. In careful anemia's. Her hosts all parasite and politicians.

The diplomacy of skin is in its shortcomings. I need more.

These cruel cantilevers of touch. Leave me obsessed with the structure. What's inside doesn't matter at all.

Lit faces and obvious dominions Prove the fly's importance. In the preposterous anonymity of this flesh.