after “Molt” by Lotus L. Kang
Glassy-eyed again. Not glossy enough,
lacking grease. Underexposed &
inexperienced, shivering & shearing
off, my photographic body develops
ears first. The organs come from all over.
They are set up for failure. Did I listen
closely enough to the Xerox
machine that photocopied my love?
I left a warning about content but
it’s always out of date. Never caring
in the first place, I roll up another
city. It is winter. The Polaroid
doesn’t get any older. It continues
living the failed life of images.
