at a stake

I feel i'm lying
carrying around that corporeal misfit
I don't have the face of a teenager anymore
My visage is carved in longanimity
and that ancient wood shows its cracks
the bark is chiseled
My hair still soft and curly when i fumble it
but i can see my skull through that thin and messy bush
My eyes are tired more and more as scratched glass
fading invisibly from spring to fall
bronze like the rotten leaves of that season
My feet got miles
the induration patches and the crooked toes are relics
so smooth on the top, such contrast
and beside all this, all the weary ends
i've still somewhat the core body of a younger man
my trunk is slick in that elastic skin
all along covered with dry muscles
an impetuous sharpness
i know those temples who never served, never worked
that time hasn't touched
i'm an heartfelt frankenstein
and my mind too shares that destiny
of a lie bearer

(i think of a display, a revelation, a cult to that body, which is mine, which is me, and my acceptable truth)

I am still playful!