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Musee Mecanique
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Our Changing Skins
Once if I remember well,
The days were filled with sun and wind,
It came to dusk the lights would flicker on,
Fortresses of pillows hanging sheets from all the bookshelves,
We were kings and queens of our own little lands,
Spinning in our changing skins,
We'd walk through walls with dizzy heads,
Fortune told us angels fear to fly,
Secrets that we held inside,
Thin the child who wonders why,
Wonders why a laugh sounds like a cry,
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Who wonders why a laugh sounds like a cry,
With fraudulent identities,
Polaroids and mystery,
Smiling faces two dimensionally,
Tooth by tooth and leaf by leaf,
With other hands and other feet,
Our mothers frowned as arms grew out of sleeves,
Adulturing was just a thing to be...
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