What Wet
that was a day when I would
decide for myself what wet
would coat my likeness
the fluid of diverse membranes
layered and on tap
like a parfait of who and what
hopped incrementally through a hatch;
a gelatin disguise.
and easily distilled by the thinness
of rainwater unharbored overhead;
metallic gasoline parting
puddled black oil, shooing it
like moses. peeling of fruit.
the movement pro-Identity creates
a longing for something definite—
I think. I'm not sure.
but I'm told that's okay.
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