I don’t come up for air


I’m pulled under unrestricted
by currents of uncertainty,
now a welcomed howling bed.
I am only open eyes
so clear they disappear.

I remade my body,

iterating the majestic parts –
sharp shoulders, soft neckline
mouth full of consonants and vowels.
You’ll look my direction but
I’m completely gone.
I outgrew my own goosebumps.

I planned it this way.

Treading black abysses,
the ones created by those
who won’t search close
enough to see me there –
a buoyed glowing mouth
singing my own lullabies,
anthems.

They don’t want to find

anyone jumping out
of the boat not sinking.
Becoming the bottom.
My legs did not buckle.
I grew gills, adapted
and gulped the H2O air,
the grassy inhale,
an entire city of lights.
All bits of world.

Exhaled the mud —

that expectation slick.
Mountain peaks so high,
oxygen becomes ice.
I’m a different breed.
I replicated, divided, birthed.

Hunted.

This is my grounding.
Feet snatched into dirt,
digging in. Arms wading
ancient trees and holy water.
Concrete body still
sprouting stories I need to tell.
Passages swimming in my throat.
Scanning with laser focus
the genesis I’ll soon capture in

black ink on lit screens.


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