all-ready
a sacked-up
dermis-embalmed
soupy gelatine
of marrow, blood and fat
sitting
ecstatically
accidentally
prodded
the only occasion left
flows, shuffles and ripples
in and against itself
sloshing, muffled,
all the way round itself
as one continuous wave,
the perfect dance –
like a spasm of history,
unanchored
moonless
fleshy artefact
of some long since retired modality –
now, alone (all-one) produces its own beach
its own music
falling beside itself
to the sound
of the cell-by-cell progress
of its patient decomposition.
Carnivalesque
without sea-son.