skin

is the smell of
onions
monsters of produce
really the only thing i
have left
a part of my skin
proof
that for an afternoon
we worked together
canning pickles and peaches

later i was covered
with a film
of chlorine
the grime of summer
an old
familiar feeling
yet in a suit
that didn't fit
mine
was lost

back home
my feet are falling
apart
skin crumbling away from
between my toes
perhaps
it's wear from travel
too much
from here
to
there
or
my body
signaling
i'm a new person
every
28 days

if i'm a new person
with
40,000 cells a minutes
gone
lost among
the places i've been
moving
leaving
living this nomadic lifestyle
with people changing
at every turn
well,
shouldn't be this hard