Wildwood Grown

If we were all found naturally at birth To resemble the thing We are best suited to do in this life It would be odd indeed To suppose myself with one giant eyeball And two giant hands, shriveled up legs, And fingertips that seeped India ink Whenever I pressed them to any surface Neck arched permanently for reading With a thickened callous of iris Instead of always looking for glasses And it does scare me to suppose What those women out in the back alleys Would have in their derivative appearance- IV ports made of hardened cuticle, From many generations of drug injections? That's as far as I'm letting my imagination go- Except that I might have to stop eating honey.