The body is a crowded zoo. In the Jardin des Plantes,
Paris, 1907, as if from behind bars, the poet
paces along with the panther, following its inward
spiral until, arriving at the centre of the cage, he
disappears. Angels in the aviary.
Under the skin there is fur.
Under the skin there is another
skin, a coat, lined in red
mink. Listen.
What is it? Simian or snake or something in
between, mewling in the spine?
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