I hold the soles of my feet
Wondering if there's solace at the bottom of me
Even the part that touches earth,
Filth &
Mud

It all feels like a crackling can
Left over effervescent
Growing stale
When I rattle myself
There's the sound of rock hitting glass
Coins on sheet metal
And not much else

The face feels heavy after
A long day of lying
To myself
Through my teeth,
Even bypassing that soft
Gellatinous puddy
Wadded up in my core

I'm sure it use to be larger.

Maybe it came from the sky

Or the place juxtaposed
In an immediate instance
One gulp of fresh air
Below my curved,
Bow-line feet.