Incantations, bewitching mirrors, serverance to monthly slip ups -

chemical warfare in the womb -

I collect all these brochures

from 11-up,

and slice the cake on words, hungry angry treacherous words;

white coats

to blossoming scholars of the Physics.

Here, I have a shape

to caress in summer dress, to smooth in tenderness,

but to stab when I am a nuisance.

My insurance? My repentance -

crossed and tied

and graffiti on the tiled.

Hieroglyphics attack my pupil

prescribed

and my mouth

flies off the handle.

Shielded,

my hand

is Perseus.