Plaster of Paris

When I’m plaster
moisten and fold
over your human face
mix sand, hair, water
press into wounds
gypsum for blood
mental cracks harden
little faults in Paris
the death of clowns
our lapses of memory
confused by AM blood

When I’m plaster
press me on your body
physical breaks rejoin
our jumpsuits mend
sweaters rewoven
street hawks disperse
our small room fading
we exit Shakespeare & Co.
sloughing dead skin and tears
for goodbye we’re flying away

away again


4 thoughts on “Plaster of Paris

    • Hey, been in outer space and crawling under cars with only a short looped film of my recent past playing on every screen. Thanks for your comments. It’s these small moments of connection that poke shrapnel holes in blackout armor.


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