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.