JENNY RECALDIN 13R
He’s a rag doll- a patchwork of a thousand scraps.
Short and wispish thin as the smoke his nostrils reek
His blood thick with nicotine and irony,
Oozing through ashen lungs- his mottled, wonderful brain.
You can tell from his fringe he’s into punk- thudding and screeching and magnificently loud.
Coal black jeans cling to elvin legs.
Tiger teeth glint, bared, poised to unleash chaos
He is dwarfed by a second-hand leather jacket, two sizes too big,
But he wears it as a badge of indifference-
Proud of his petal-soft cheeks against the oily crack of his armour,
Like a moody rhino with a fag.
His eyes are gravestones sheeted in frozen dewdrops
But sitting in the November nighttime the Dog Star flashes in them,
Through the boozy haze all his body is celestial, totally clear in his nonchalance,
Escaping humanity in the joints that stain his fingernails.