Evan J. Peterson

How we part for good:
you retract, hollow
and still as ever.

You drive straight home,
where you pluck your smile
and tuck it in a drawer,

nose left in the soap dish.
You pull out your proper
eye, the dead one left in,

and suspend it in a water glass.
Then you feel for your ears
and panic. They are safely

swaddled across town,
in suede on my night stand.
I unwrap them and place

one in my mouth. Now
you will sleep fitfully,
a perfect brown bulb.

Posted 08/06/10

This piece, originally published in a different form in The Pinch, also deals with themes of body fragmentation, although it won't be in the full-length book. It's available in my chapzine, Secular Exorcisms. Email me if you'd like one of those.