Fabric Stranger Poem by nathan martin

now the angles of the room seem
pulled together by chance and little else.

you lieing on the floor still as can be.

happy head full of bee pollen
crossed with a linen ciggerette.

your smile is unique.

your fabric skin is course not
smooth like the others.

perhaps you are a lantern.

your hands are wrinkeled.

where have they been for so long,
in a bathtube or a laudrymat?

your niether clean nor dirty.


what is that strange auburn glow
about your eyes?

perhaps you are a ghost,
but where is your gown?

you seem to be holding some kind
of tacit knowledge.

perhaps you are from my past.

it was in that moment that i saw your face.

dead love on the floor wrinkeled in the corner
the shirts piled up in a mess.

thats where i remember you from.