While reading Derrida
Shards and shreds
are my puzzler mind,
Tears and tatters
are my body’s rind.
Shards and shreds
are my cups of mesh for milk..
Tears and tatters
weave my fabric of holes for wholes.
Ask me to pour tea
in the pieced-up cup
There it runs out
spoiling my trousers and shirt.
When I put my body
in my Sunday best
It undresses me rather
leaking my nakedness.
