Today i found a baby's glove
lying on the drainage board, so still
yesterday a leather glove
from the slim fingered hand of a woman.

the next time i saw it was lying
half-frozen and twisted on the kerb
and i couldnt take it.

now i have my own private collection
all lined in rows when you open up the wardrobe doors
now i have no room for my obsession
lined up and labelled in neat little packets

the next time i saw one it stuck inside my head
and became all that i could think about.

and through wax seals and padlocks
a hand through my ribcage
past the choking
i saw palms and fingers grasping [bad word] 
i imagined myself, hacking desperately
at the sea of appendages
forward and right,
freeing myself like a butcher feeling the mash of bone
and [bad word] slowly down the front of my body

and i couldnt take it anymore
i said "I've got to go, i've gotta get out of here
ive gotta go, and i ran down the street
ive gotta go, i've gotta get out of here
i've gotta go ive gotta go."