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Beloved dry inch
on the outside of my right index finger

beloved toenails growing
so quickly I carry a clipper
in my backpack

beloved nose,
always leaking

beloved skin, ruddy
in some places, hoary
in others, leathered
soles of my feet, tender wrists,

beloved belly,

beloved adrenal glands,
sitting like hats
atop the plump pigs
of my kidneys, 
telling me to roar & bite
or thunder & run,

theologians want me to believe
I was poured into my body
or that I wear it, that one fine
day it’ll crack open
& something call soul
will flood out like egg white

& others would say I have
my body but it is not a hat
or a car, I can’t have the Earth
either, but I live in both

beloved hair & beard
I’m growing out
for strong reasons
words cannot explain,

beloved lips ushering
in all the good tastes,

beloved eyes, one smaller
than the other, just a little amount
but enough that I named

the larger one Tiny
& the smaller one Big Man,

remember the wonder
the first time you saw
yourself in a mirror,

realizing you were using your eyes
to look at your eyes

which makes me wonder
if I look anything like what I see
under the sterile light
in the bathroom

because I have heard 
my own beloved voice
in recordings

& I sound nothing 
at all like that imposter.

About John Paul Davis

John Paul Davis is a poet, musician, designer and web developer living in Brooklyn. You can find out more about him at View all posts by John Paul Davis

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