My whole body is an itch I cannot scratch
fingers cannot find any inch of skin that will release me.
My heart wears cashmere- what fancy torture
my lungs corset-laced with wool yarn- sewn in, out, in, out
my sleeps are restless, riddled with half-dreaming and talking aloud
my waking- quick, jolting
and I tumble out of repose, electric, electronic
jitterbugging with the urgency of an itchy soul.

I need to move.
My insides know it.