she knitted in the same
place as always
close to a window
light attraction
settled right,
click of wood
scrape of twine,
creating another
fucking jumper,
body first then arms,
obscure patterns
the delta waves of
insanity,
arms broadly stuck
on,
as if sackcloth
I wore them
as instructed,
beneath my beard,
there warmth insult
to integrity,
but compliant
I continued,
my life the click
of wooden needles.
