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HIKING, SOMETIMES

but of course i sleep in mountains,
shadow-tripping through my dreams of
orphans, and only children.

i am one of them.

my skin itches,
a riotous flea-bitten map,
my rosebud tits spilling out
into teacups that
the ragamuffins pull to their
wind-rustled mouths,
ill-bred pinky fingers unraised,
clenched.

my flesh feeds them.

i rock tumble into foreign laps,
being petted: a pet-
my trail-needy nature
electrocuted, fenced, and underfed
until my apathy gives and i am
rewarded
with western conveniences.

i am an amusement for you.

but of course mountains sleep in me,
crumble into pebbles and broken schemes
of whores, and addicts.

i am one of them .