UNDEFINED BUT STACKABLE ❋ Alizee Lenox

My heavy pink
concrete sleep
mask becomes
porous & I
dive into
the interstice.
A peep hole.
There’s a man
sitting on the chair.
A white garden
chair you can
leave outside
even during
the winter.
You can leave it
outside & it won’t
disappear.
I like chairs.
The man
is sitting stiff
with his soft
stomach covered
by a T­-shirt.
“I wanna
Dance
With
Some
Body
Some
Body
Who
Loves
Me”
Yeah
He is the kind of man
who sends signals
to the world
right from his chest.
Expecting flesh
tangible Emojis
hearts, an answer.
Man on the chair moves
expanding his legs
to oblivion.
It is like he has
a sudden need
to fill the void.
The void of everything
with his cells.
I stand now in a reality
where only the white
plastic garden chair
is committed
to honesty.
Plastic is real.
It won’t disappear.
People trust it
so much they leave it
everywhere as they know
it will remain in position.
I want my body
to dance like plastic
when it burns.
Or sway.
Close to your
heat, my edges
get softly uneven.
But if life has
heat sometimes
i am not allowed
to be involved
so i would rather
evaporate.