Human World
My outline, a fragile skeleton,
Fluorescent marking,
Is getting even smaller,
Spoiled and dulled
From all the walking.
The language is pebbly,
Woody and damp,
Not able to express
This existence,
Where rock could have been
Timber and
Fluid altering to lumber.
And so I fight, to react
To this world,
In tempestuous meaning
To my form.
Still, my skeleton is
Or would have been,
In my own flesh,
Just another flicker,
Some kind of atonement.
© 2009 Stefania Carmen Misaila
Copyright © Stefania Carmen Misaila | Year Posted 2009
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