I could disassemble myself,
Placing my digits in a line of increasing size on a
Metal table,
Measuring by the millimeter and
Inspecting each incision.
I could stand in the path of the
West wind,
Watching my skin come apart
Atom by atom and
Be scattered on the breeze like the
Ashes of so many men.
They could stretch out their hands and
Shake out their hair and
March between mountains,
Conquering every enemy that
Blocks our many paths.
They could become dust motes,
Finding a vivid green eye to irritate or
An antique fur coat to settle in and
Multiply into an army of myself,
Surveying the surface of the world.
I would watch them stamp and tumble and
Fall into the cracks in the ground,
Scraped into the countryside by our
Pens seeking a certain truth.
They would become cramped in those cracks,
Fighting for sunlight and air that's
Stained with the smell of cheap sugar icing and
Sweat from the brow of a child
Playing tag.