I shoot the girls and fuck the boys ‒ my world
is bounded by ten thousand two-inch squares
of plasticated metaphor that share
their secrets slowly. Days and hours swirl
into my throat ‒ they choke me ‒ fingers curl
then stroke me. All the tree-bark shrouds I wear
are stripped away to leave me standing bare ‒
just naked, save for flowers, save for pearls.
I hide in plain sight, hunt with mirrors, while
the cold ash blankets memories of another;
the fire casts a shadow on my smile ‒
thighs spread, waiting for a faithless lover.
The sidewalk seems so very far below ‒
roll VTR, it’s time for me to go.
House #4 - Francesca Woodman