Paste Bodies

I guess today’s poem is another kind of collage.

(DAY 13)

(Em)Place(ment)

I’m leaking round the edges,

my bolts are coming off,

whatever kind of glue

God may have used to

stick my limbs in place –

it wasn’t good enough,

it yellowed and cracked

with age.

And perhaps, all along,

I had paste eyes,

a woolen tongue,

a cardboard heart,

because it took so much

string, scotch tape,

and goodwill to keep them in place –

and just a bit of time

to displace them.