Nothing can stop me from drowning,
especially not the toes at the end my arching feet,
desperately scrabbling for purchase
in the loose silt at the bottom of the river.
The flesh always fights for its life,
even when the spirit is unwilling.
The arc of my body means something
more than I can understand,
a parabola chasing infinity,
running from the focus of my limited existence.
Maybe this water will carry me there,
or maybe it will divide me into better pieces,
since the sum was always less than its parts.
I just want to get my face wet.
My eyes have been dry for so long.
I want to know how something else feels.

04/01/2014

Posted on 04/01/2014
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