I'm crouched in a dark place and eyeing off finches
Which flinch and flicker their strange tongues in my face.

If I could stop leaking and walking into walls
I might even be loved some day
Throw my hands away
And be satisfied with cold stumps that prod and point
In your direction.

Inside my shy mind-eye I bicker and cry
Refuse food and curse my father
Grow bitter tasting plants to rub on your ailments
And let my sore dish fingers peel their layers off
Into lukewarm soapy waters.

But at night
I see large arms emerging from the bed
And from the sheets
Limbre toes from perfect feet
Form intricate braids inside my sleepy head.