Nothing to do with Rectangles

This is no place for rectangles
choose a shape
make a pun
lose your self
make it fun
how many sides
of your form
can you face
how many faces
of your shades
can you trace?

Some of your shadow is biology,
some of your jewelry a society,
some of your wardrobe a relationship.

Can you find an ideal sex?
Is it round?
Are you a victim of breath?
Does it sound?

How can you compound your shirt
full of merchant and teacher and preacher and student?

take a hammer to the wrinkles
die to make something of our selves
life happens to our sleeves
wear it out for fashion—

Can you change your gear
now that fall is here?
Does your lack of attire
justify a cause for crises?
Do you look out for models to inspire?

what moved the spires higher
and built the molds for something full or hollow
what tangled the time to shallow echoes
and reared the lines around the confines of you—

Nothing to do with rectangles, but branches and waves and the archways of caves and mouths and all the ways we enter and fade.