Frailty

I am

Pockmarked

Like the lunar surface,

Like a rambling, neglected 

Dirt road.

Rain still seeps between

The bits of gravel used for fill

Under a woven cover of

Cobwebs.

I breathe, and the evil I do not will

Wriggles from

Weeping-wracked wounds.

I retch wretches,

Clutch clutches,

Breed broods–

Until the gossamer goes, 

And I stand instead-

Disrobed.

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