Now that my thoughts are flecked with grey
Now that they are shaved down
to a thin minimum
Now that everyone is inserting
their own sharp tongues
into me,
Now that hens and wrens are preening and perching,
waiting their turn to scratch and peck me
for a ration of feed
Now that my skin is being pulled and torn
into drifting shards and feathers
Now that I know how it feels to be eaten
Now that I can no longer eat
Now that all chairs are uncomfortable
and all carpets abrade my
knees
Now that my ice has been broken
Now that I am blanked, unshaped
Now that my icons are burning
in the chemical fire of my breath
Now that my hands are cut off at the wrists
but not for the blood of a nation
Now that my eyes have fallen
Now that the laughs of old women
can no longer touch me
Now that my skintight jeans
no longer fit me
Now that my brightness
has moved to the
outside
Now that my thoughts are an exploding flight
trying to die in the freezing night
Now that my thoughts are flecked with grey
Now I walk away
walk away
walk away
walk away
(First published in Numbat)