You emerge out of your beastiary
Hairless,
With eyes the same unsettled blue as sea water.
Here is the new world.
You crawl towards it on your hands and knees with nothing in your mouth.

You are having dreams.
Illustrations that go on and on.
Confusing reality.

What does it mean?
Not the book—this body.
The way your muscles shift and twinge under the skin
And the tendons arch dreadfully in purposeful directions.
Your hands are the most alien of all.
You can hardly call them yours.