4am

He drinks four glasses of water

and remembers, finally, to close the fridge door.

In this half-light

he is a unicorn, almost,

pressing his body down in

bleak inspection of what is still there,

what isn’t.

Stained, searching through

mirrored gazes for eyes and

ears and the four small moles

that one day disappeared

His body deflated into

a husk.

And one thing he can only say;

No body is this here

No body is this.

4am

neant

North Melbourne, Australia

  • Artist
    Notes

Tags

poetry

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