I am the rubber necked ballet slippered
dancer that sits on a wooden stage with arches
like canyons, rubbing tired swollen feet that no
longer fit into cracks in the sidewalk.
I am the tug of war grease stained
sailors knot rope that is slung from the gallows
over sun ripened marshes, the stink
billowing into nostrils, sinking into hair folicles.
I am moon-kiss, wind-slap, sun-cracked
skin thats stretched over cheekbones
resembling wire hangers, each angle sharp
enough to poke your eye out.