Ramblings
I am always looking for a fight,
a way to write about my mist.
I have a need that won’t stop,
a pulsing in my deepest guts,
the shiver and jerk of the leg
in my half-sleep, involuntary,
my body functions in smells,
lives and breathes into noises.
Pain, time and my wrinkles
all tell a story within a story,
as a reflection in a mirror
tells a tale of this person
who must be me, or a me;
I am a something in this glass
an image of existence,
or maybe this body exists
as an acknowledgment
that I am more than
the sum of my limbs,
breasts, nose and eyes.
I am a movement, shiver,
millions of electric currents,
I am a not a coiled spring,
I am a string pulled taught
waiting to be plucked
to play a staccato music.
I am that string that waits
for a bow to transform me
into a vibration undefined,
into an involuntary design.
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