Poem: A Skin Suit Sewn Too Tightly

Red rock of Bisbee calls the ghosts out
as a doctor sucks poison from a bite
Back come the dead to walk again
reincarnation of secondhand spirits
—as secondhand furniture

The dresser is painted now
The couch new cloth
The set of chairs split apart
The headboard used for vines

In your years of living
—the painting under the painting
a past covered over and over
with false stories of forgotten moments
made to fill the gap of time
the living use between reading
the menu, and ordering the meal

Fat of the present melts off,
dead blood returns its moisture
to the air drying your muscles tight,
tight as new couch fabric
white as the dresser,
your set of ribs pull apart,
your head, a plot of vines.