body diagram

some days, I draw a canonic
nude of the body as an s.

I replace the fingers
for clovers and mistake them

for quiet as it looks
on days where sometimes

there are no cicadas & it’s silent.
on paper, I graft the spine

from the neck, brooked to the right lung,
towards the lacuna,

an inch to the middle. beneath
it, there’s the vermin’s pylorus, how a nude

should be, really, exposed & easy
to touch. the ribs’ tongue is spitting

a limb, a bone, makes a language
not theirs: enough to kill

another rib the size of a human torso
shrunk like jerky, dry-twisted. the body’s jargon

is not a computation
of the transitive, how the property

makes an A the length of a B as a C.
no, here an A is not a B, nor

a C, not an armor, but agape
and squalled. i pencil in the skin

as an eggshell, & nearby an attester
cavils till its mouth cracks like bones.

already, the body has mated.

Alisha Yi is a writer from Las Vegas, Nevada.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s