Museums

It’s like waking up in
the matrix of a memory,
jagged glass corners
and eyes as deflective
as marbles.

Our taxidermy li(v)es.

The detail is still there,
but there’s something
‘off’ about the way we
contort ourselves into
the shape of a knife, or
box, or wolfhound.

We’ve all got history.

I’ve no idea what I’d be.
Perhaps I’d just be me,
a piece of the intricacy,
peering at the portraits
with marble eyes.

– B.

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