Popliteal Fossa

In that most spidery of cauldrons
Where hinge meets ram
Rashy as a kid
Now a skin tag sits

A fly in the corner
A meal forgotten
I've seen others cocoon
With no butterflies ever
Except perhaps a death head
Inked in for fun

Doesn't scare the neighbors
They've seen worse
Life's Too Short
They say
But I'm never quite sure I believe them
When they say at least we've got health
I can't speak for them

I can't even grease my own pins
Or stretch my suspension frame
Some sweaty pinch
At the top of a wooly ridge
A crease in an otherwise perfect extension

Call for you on line 1
Run
Let the juice flow
Down down down
Feed the flower beds
Repurpose the pads
Sand stuck on paper
Blocks of cheese
Collection of minerals
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1.26.12