Flail

I just like feeling the cusp of

experience, an outside

force saving life, day by day.

I be front and center, aptly.

I make coffee, upturn chairs, people

come in, I do what I can. It’s

me in the weird zone. I’m

probably the sexiest.

I strut Machiavellian.

Doors open like eggs.

I move the needle,

care for me first.

Is it so wrong? I’m a

monk with thorny rod,

questing and sublime,

deeper and farther into

a cloud of blue.

I don’t know, but who does?

Until I do, I’ll do.

I’ll push, grit my ride,

I can do it, go past. My

ends lift the engine. I

like I can up

and just move.

Can’t it be

my body I’m giving,

where body and I can reach,

it’s more than body

everywhere at once.