I.
Bones cracked open like geodes—
mineral heart exposed.
Constellations of fracture,
the body's first poetry.
Sizzling beneath skin,
muscles and sinew conspire
to move me through this world
that demands motion
when stillness is all I crave.
II.
Ink dropping, skipping like stones
across the pond-surface of the page.
My hand, a reluctant anchor,
stuck to paper curling…
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