This is the way I want it: the risk like sex,

unprotected, its gender unknown,

its anomalies untested and what is perfection?
This shape, my new scoliosis as permanent

as the lengthening shadow of my abdomen.

I hope, I hope for nothing but a simpler metrics.
And psycho-babble: before there is a sound

there is a movement that is sound-full

and then the hard talk of fluid.
And the doppler effect: it transforms the abstract

to the concrete for what else could make

that whooshing? Yet there is my own heart.
So if meaning can be stroked into anything,

stuck waiting for assistance out of a chair

on the timber deck, I am the umbilicus.
doing nothing, my new predilection

is sore feet: inch by inch my first language

if only I could minus the nerve endings.
Here, give me a leg-up, I'm sweating primed

for escape, skewiff as I sway-sway between

a diminished focus where the toilet is and I am.
I know I am an animal and standing bent

is just a thing you get used to like defecation

and my position is squat and deliver.