a memo from my feet:
we are tired. you abuse us.
we go and go and go and we do not know where
we are going, this skin bubbles up and bursts and dirt
grinds under toenails
arches collapse, what are we doing?
--
sparrow collision to window, they vanish in a husk of bird-meat and
feathers that sway past the sunburst-blue flowers
there is potential sleeping in my arm
there is potential growing in my throat
my eyes lift straight out of my head like tiny balloons,
my body moves blindly, unafraid
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