Studio LERIAL

In a mirror that will never show him his true face

He spies dust in the corner of the eye

Corner of the room

Corner of the spine

Each vertebra a vice

For all the skins he’s lived

Through flesh or fiction’s fibres

He reads

He leads with the head

Body follows like a wagon without a wheel

Bones creaking

Floorboards speaking to his soles

You were here once before

Come back

Come

Back

To bed.