my fingernails have gone missing.
I seldom have the time for them to seek
missing appendages slink down the hollow crevices
down my gullet I will climb and tear
and crunch and topple and
consume my way up mountain tops I
can feel the rain bearing on me
the obesity of the grey sky drag at my audacity
to bleed my way up
not only my path but His path
and Her method

is that I will forge upwards
and behold my dramatic irony
where my thick skin and my snotty nose
and my teary eyes
with coveted gaze I will scream

I WANTED WINGS
atop the mountain, I would have flown to.