Day 20

So here we have the cover, the scalp,
hair thick and dark as an antiquarian book
in the crowded library shelf that is each moment
gathered and collected over time,

The skull like a block of paragraphless prose
to crunch through searching for all the meaning inside,

To the brain that’s never sure if it’s honest to itself,
a dictionary in which so many of the words are misspelt,
a tangled web of neologisms in a foreign language,
though nothing is like the brain
for without the brain there is nothing,

The tongue a fountain pen forever writing
the unfinished lines of the lips,

Nose an open door at the end of a hallway of days
leading to the lungs,

Ears constantly spraying graffiti
on the inside and out of the skull.

A family of siblings always fighting to decipher
the slick invisible ink of the eyes.