there are rope marks on my wrists, fat-bubbled flesh
an orion’s belt of satin scars from sorry slipsÂ
wrinkles like creased cloth at the sunday dinner
that are hardly noticed among favoured faces
i collect secrets like copper coins and latelyÂ
there are holes in the pockets of my jeans
and wine turns into water and turns my tongueÂ
into a slip-and-slide and i will tell you everything
if you so much as ask, i will unravel like ribbon
and maybe it’s because i am tied too tight or
bulging to the brim with baggage i must shed
or else, or else, or else!         i don’t really know but
i fear i may go insane again if i so much as feelÂ
and the doctor has started writing letters to meÂ
mother, i miss you but it seems i cannot see youÂ
maybe soon, i will be strong enough to come homeÂ