Bobbins

My season robed in hessian couture,

Organic detail a-lined out of place. I’ve

Removed the belted lip with its stapled

Demure. No need to excavate a made-up

Face. My canvas sole saunters, a random

Will. A stiletto hide waddles into every

Shot. I’ve timed my appearance; a regular

Pill, hyphenated gulps dislodge the clot.