tap me right and i am a tuning fork my bones hum a desire to shirk, to move, to shake the dust for vistas unseen
my feet are hungry my skin has to taste every flavor of dirt it gets bored with the daily repetition of texture and shade
what of all the palms unpressed and eyes ungazed?
i am a drunk and i'm late and i can't find my keys but i know they're in my bedroom somewhere so i search unevenly, moving from corner to corner, stumbling, overturning pillows and ***** t-shirts, knocking down lamps, cursing and muttering, squinting and sweating ugly
this is my each day. my skin feels too tight. i want to crack it open at my elbows and the edges of my scalp and crawl out of myself, swollen so large no city can contain me. let me boil until i am atmosphere, citizen of every nation, kisser of every lip and eyelid, dervish of every flame or patch of dry earth.