created from these lines
1.
I am standing on an electronic
metal platform. There is a man's
mouth inside my belly. His eyes
are my breasts. My skin is ripped
off my body. My skull is missing.
You can see my muscles,
my skeleton, my brain.
Liberation flows through my veins
which are visible to the naked eye.
Why have I
been placed here?
Why am I
on display?
An electric snake crawls
up my legs. He sneaks on
his belly around mine. He slimes
up and around my arms.
He curls around my missing skull.
He has entered me.
I am giving birth to his child
but the child has grown to a man.
The man grimaces.
He is stuck in my torso.
He wants me to scream
and cry but I
have no mouth.
My lips have been
removed.
Why have I
been placed here?
Why am I
on display?
Stop looking at me.
Stop looking at me!
2.
It is possible that I have
landed on a distant planet.
My body does not feel like my own.
My skin has scales. I skid and slip,
slew, slide like a serpent.
My tongue is reptillian, split in two
like my dreams. Two suns intoxicate me
with their brightness, their heat.
Who put me here? Am I dead?
My outer layer is pink. I am not like
the others. They ignore me or hiss
when I come near. I curl into a
ball and chase
my tail with my mouth.
I want to swallow myself whole to
disappear from this place.
They are slimey creatures who
hiss me hiss me hiss me hiss me
and I, the pink amphibian, the
alienated hydra, I am part of
a watercolor, cornered,
at bay, held captive by nightmare
rays from double fireballs.
3.
I am an unfinished painting.
My skin is canvas, hydrated by
tones and colors I create with
imagined pigments. On days when
I brush myself with doubt, I am greyed out,
muddied. I brush myself with love to
alter the washed shaded tones until
an image emerges, vibrant, lucid, distinct,
bright with light, accentuating primaries,
secondaries, rainbow enhancements.
Some days, I am an abstract without
definition, earthtones in balance, my
design off-center, askew.
Other days, I am a nude, clearly
defined, draped by a velvet
fabric to protect me from elements.
I am one canvas painting myself
over and over again
over and over again.
I cannot remain a bird or
a naked body. I cannot remain
a sculpted face within the belly
of a bird. I am an unfinished painting,
continually revised.
4.
Streak my rusted vision with
white drips which run down the
right side of my presence, and
I will accept your decision to define
me with querulous stripes while I
attempt to focus on what's left of me,
squarely, pinpointed on my central core
