the act of changing location
sounds so permeable, fluid. as if
i could inhale and be underground waiting
for my train. exhale and be
staring above me at behemoths of architecture
reflecting my own shining face
back at me. sometimes i feel
that way, but now each movement seems
languid and tired, as if my muscles
are straining from the weight
of all the lives i am not living;
pulling each cell backwards as it
tries and tries again to keep
its momentum.
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