A view of the bright red kind.

For the first time, I'm meeting:

My feeble skin,

My hierarchy of gesture,

My body (suddenly obsessed with fulfilling its own degradation)

Run along now, stretch yourself silly.

Left arm high, feel it start at your hip:

A separation,

let it tickle your side,

skulking one inch at a time.

Drip yourself dry.

Right, ok, right arm high, this one will itch.

After all it is your uncoupling,

you should be the one to name it.

But instead it has commandeered you..

Come aboard you are now a passenger in your own body!

You walk through a dimly light passage to a sophisticated table setting;

Four types of cutlery, crystal glassware, the whole kit and caboodle.

All glued to the surface as you sway left to right,

you can watch from the window as the tear rises high up your left side.

You feel like a proud parent,

"That's my uncoupling!" you tell the others, "He's young but look at him go!"

In the sky, your large fist clenched, wincing.

Perhaps you could send a postcard, seems kind of passive.

You could say:

"It's nice in here, they serve grapes off the stem and toast just how you like it"

But you won't.

You could also say:

That you "finally feel peaceful, perched on a plush cushion with a view of the bright red kind and a big gaping hole"

but you also wont.

lili grace ward

************

Lili Ward