Monday, March 30, 2015

hustling woman.

i floated
through the streets like a criminal or
a flower

gaining speed toward a waterfall
in the night,
without the light of the moon.

my movements are
something stealthy. they trace
something
that is not supposed to happen.

i could not step into
the spotlight of the street lamps.
i would turn into fire.

i could not jump in street puddles.
i would become water.

i could not follow the breeze.
air. i denied myself as a vortex, one
i appear to be,

as i did not want to sink into the earth,
unable to dig out

for a second chance at life.

breathing, i lowered my own crying head
into my hands

as if a romantic vision.

i have inhaled so much. my head hurts.