A brass barometer lives beneath my ribs;
its needle flutters at weather only I can feel.
Thoughts wind around repairs, loops of cause & cure,
tightening the unseen air.
I read distress through pressure in my chest,
a metric too subtle to name.
Surface remains stoic;
under that, doors open for the few I trust;
at the deepest layer rests indifference,
flat, still, holding every swell in place.
Jun 8, 2025
Jun 8, 2025 at 3:09 AM UTC
A brass barometer lives beneath my ribs;
its needle flutters at weather only I can feel.
Thoughts wind around repairs, loops of cause & cure,
tightening the unseen air.
I read distress through pressure in my chest,
a metric too subtle to name.
Surface remains stoic;
under that, doors open for the few I trust;
at the deepest layer rests indifference,
flat, still, holding every swell in place.
