my skin is the green ink
my wife is drawn to at lunchtime.
My bones are the crisps
that once lived in closed, greasy foil.
I am open.
WALKERS is a word I no longer need.
My eyes are floating barcodes
scanning for shades of grey.
The miniature jagged edges
are my baby teeth
for something to chew on.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

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