In the room
The people are talking
But not to me
A change begins
Spots form on my skin
Not small freckles pale or dark
But large even suntanned ones
Big blotches that form slowly with gentle boundaries
Large smooth skin bands bridge between
Random worlds too far apart
Topological connections deny their separateness
I don dark glasses to hide from the crowd who are blind to me
The linked blotches expand within and without
I cry in agony as the skin pulls itself apart
Hurting me but they do not care
Or listen
The lesions (I see them that way)
Move up my legs in a gradual spiral as the music plays
Taking me back to the beginning, a single cell wrapped in fluid
Somehow the skin thickens leather-like, textured nodules roughen the forming
Of I know not what
And as I age in this eternity of unfolding and creation of an origami structure
The splash of wine wets my limbs to remind me of the journey
An entry to the chaos of chance suggestion and lucky breaks
Plastic deformation takes control and the girl on my left
Seems to see me in a blink between her thoughts of growing together with him
An ache radiates ring-like to capture my skull
Stretching itself away from my body and I feel like a levitating UFO
Floating above them, those who do not see
My neck grows blotches of light and sunset with yellow rivers between
Pushing them apart
The chatter of them and babble give nothing to me
It flows in and out and below, rising closer to me
But what I hear means nothing to me
Until a sound comes from the right of me
I turn and look
In the corner stands another giraffe
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