Saturday, January 1, 2011

What's the Worst That Could Happen?

deep buried down bundled up in my mess
sweat hardens, retreats, turns inwards
seeps, returns, rebirths, is always conserved
I concentrate, clench, and always observe
my sweat equilibrium, I've done it!

I squint the room towards a trapezoid
border myself in acute corners
where mysteries lazily gather
and I, content to let them stay just so
I just live there, breathing.

cycle of air
sticky, spun under
soft whirlwind of nostrils, mouth, pores;
salt and soup
low whistles over new news
intruding facts all drowned in drone,
all jumbled and harmless.

I win again, I am always safe
and asleep
a little bit creaky with gritty feet
empty of secrets
with nothing to say
and no worries.

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