I have been made a doll—


Needle sinks into gum, and cheek and chin turn to rubber.

I cannot stop touching my face.  I want to know how it feels—

all of it, my skin under your touch, my touch on your skin.

For a moment, can I be both of us?  But the caress is lost

on a subject too solid to be loved.




In my palm my tooth feels smooth and hard,

like the inside of a geode. There is a hole in the horizon,

a window looking into a dark wet place. The rest of me

is full of stuffing, a cloud with a human skin.




About spaces—


It’s not that I feel something missing. Instead

something does not belong, like a word misplaced,

hidden, the sock that goes missing when you’re

down to your last pair.