Joints

I will laugh at my life, and cry with sorrow. I take refuge and hide, slipping inside a chestnut shell to cover my all; a body; of arms, of legs. I shall be moulded into the case, a neater sculpting, your hands at work. I will soon fall to my shaken stilt-joints, and deploy them into many a piece, scattered across this floor. So well formed when we were first accompanied. So well formed, until apart. We fell.

Reviews

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. you are brilliant ...
. and this is stunning poetry ...