there are things inside of me I haven't ever seen
and things I have seen that will never leave inside of me
sometimes they rise to my skin surface at night
as I further the place I came from each September
and some of the times I've felt most like myself
are when I've not been here, away for days sometimes
sometimes, away for what feels like days
but I am also most anchored
in the depths of my body
when my arms are elongated
and my wrists feel
small but functioning
or when I'm horizontal, so that all my fascia
is kissing the earth
while I kiss some part of the sky:
imagined ordinary,
beautiful-ethereal-transient
though I guess when I'm in the depths of my body
I'm not here either, I'm somewhere else
in the labyrinth of me,
uncontact-
able
No comments:
Post a Comment