Can't Find the Edges

thin skin, like the see-through shell of a tiny snail.
later still, something uncoiled inside—i’m splayed.
not like a small bird hiding in long grass.

the deer crash through the forest. i hear them blowing air through their noses—hidden behind bushes. the doe chomps field grass, cocks her head to listen, prances before us.

and it is raining. and it is pouring. it is cool in the forest. sometimes the rain drips. he says we have all lost our minds a long time ago.

and who will eat the meat off my bone? it’s an overcast day, and my overcast mind.