Photography by Pip Murphy-Hoyle
Looking like a sidepiece at 33.
Outside, 33, just above freezing
liquid water falls from the sky
periodically. A table, flat and firm,
holds lunch: more chemicals in food—
now, more than ever, it lasts forever.
Shitting out other things that eat
sunlight and trap carbon forever.
A book: ensnared, tied with twine
around outstretched fingers,
weaving (this is called) in and
out, secrets, stories, outside of
your dirty shoes are the real you.
They rest on your porch. You are
inside. A child. Palliative care.
Lying inside a pallid tub; lying,
rinsing everything else off.