I wrote once of strangers


How they would all be looking
with that devil-in-the-hedges
rough round the edges stare
white eyes of bright omen skies

They would talk to me
and my replies were a balm
they smoothed into their skin
soothing the aches and pains

I became
auto erotica
with a face and no name
something to stimulate the senses
dulled by time and the easy action
of life-tides

And when I became husk
desiccated dry
the empty of a male mantis
sucked and shucked oyster shells
left haphazard on the plate

I finally understood.