By J.W. Burns
Like some animal you get tired of your skin,
want to sink to the bottom
and just push life through the mud.
But breath holds you up,
forms a face you want to wrap your tongue around,
drink until only the glow remains.
So you rip out your lungs,
sink like an innocent rock,
let what’s under your skin do the dirty work.
Now you’re flat as the sun
having solved earth air water,
at rest burning your cold blood.