Untitled

the sky is slanted
the sky is soft

I made a body of work
I hunch
I hunker
I squat down over it
I pack things back in
dirty
dry and tacky
was it packed with mud
what if it becomes infectious, purulent
what becomes of it

do I miss you
do I miss the way you make me feel
is it you
or is it me

I slice
nice and clean
slivers

I slice through
debride and flush
pack it
wrap it
and mail it to you.