A disfigured spine. Rather than a shape it is a something like,
When a young boy collides into a brick wall with his bike
And the tyres won’t sit straight, and it becomes impossible
To negotiate a straight line. The visual qualities of a tree-root,
Underfoot, that after years of accommodating Mother Earth,
Can no longer lie flat. A broken shelf with only one bracket
Intact. Did you hear that crack? Echoing up from the centre
Vertebras of my back. I suspect that’s my old body, taking a
Stand, attempting to gain the upper hand and punish me,
For bending over backwards once too often.
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