The Fieldstone Review


I know how Michelangelo felt painting the Sistine.
I too started peeling off my skin in infinite boredom
To reveal pages –
Sheaves of dermis, translucent tissue wafting to the floor,
Little membranes of fascia for binding –
Paint stains between the cracks on my fingertips,
And nails torn in the plaster.
My body, my scaffold, full of lead

Held patience in my hands –
Above my brush head
And wished to
Cut and bind the vellum
Of my skin so that I can just paint it
Sitting down.