I was caught in the wheel for 27 days.
my ring finger, left hand,
just below the knuckle.
flesh lay threaded through spokes.

lying there,
blood in cascade within my veins, away from the finger tip.
a bustling commute inside of me.

eyes upward, fixed there, even in rain.
overflowing in showers,
these bubbling iris pools.

I’ve had my fill,
and very swiftly i go.
on the mornings of journeys,
hesitation finds no home in me.

the only request i have is for a graceful exit,
swift, and defiant.