I am good at biting off corners.
Chewing, swallowing, digesting.
Lying about the things that come out
the other side.
Saying they are not mine.
I am molecules, filled with speed
and empty spaces. The road
vibrates. I am transparent.
I have not slept in hollows in the hills.
But I have slept in the hollows
of your preoccupation. In the
gaps between imitation and
helplessness. But you have never
tasted like lies. And I have never
been made to carve honesty
into my skin.
Missing happens in milliseconds.
It exists in the way the air
can smell sterile.
Go kiss a toad. Walk into
the water with clothes on.
Listen to unresolved notes.
Forgive the hedges.