This need I have
for unidirectional movement
will **** me.
For all the windows to fall shut against the wind in one long line like prttttpptttt.
Cards being shuffled.
Dominos clack’d together on a gray kitchen floor .
This need I have
for hidden meaning of the most obvious kind
will **** my street cred.
A painting of a puzzle piece, a puzzle of a peace sign.  Getting cute
with your words can get you killed out here.  
I am buried under
all the pressure of having blood.  
Of being an body owner. Like here, this is yours now ;
Make a home for the body.
Being born is like having a child
beside yourself, another one inside.
Pushing out, in.
But I need the pressure, baby.  Turn me back into
the shape of a man.
This need I have for object permanence,
is killing the suspense.  What if the ball
doesn’t exist behind the couch?
What if I didn’t have this need for
storytelling voice, telling the story I’m only living.
Because the story needs a teller
like a hat needs a feather.
Like a cat needs another reason to eat..  
This need I have for control
is inoperable cancer.
Gravity in the bones, nothing left for me in the stars,
the unbearable weight of barely anything at all.