This, at a pinch, could be community –
with every step ahead
we grow lighter
in the faith
that there will be reprieve
from the swaddling grammar
of the flesh
from the 70s sitcoms
of the mind.
This is as collective as desire ever gets.
From the shape-shifting lard
of history,
from worlds we never made,
from bodies we don’t understand,
from words, hi cal and greasy,
from muscle losing the cornflour starch
of certainty,
we emerge,
flushed innocents,
ready
to be fished out
of ourselves.