My skin is pulsing from the unbroken beat of the sun
on the river rocks and on my shoulders
at the colony where I'd spent
an entire morning fighting the urge to run away
Just this morning I pressed
my naked heels deep in the damp Appalachian mud,
the tiny rocks and shards under the dirty water
pressed right back against me.
Outside the bar, they were smoking cigarettes
and I roll my eyes at the fake laughs echoing
from inside the blue-lit bar room.
My heavy foot stomps out the stub of the cheap Camel
and it crumbles.
I get a mint from inside my small, small bag.
I nod to the door guy with the crooked eyes.
I walk down to the green glow of the pub near my street,
right up the steep hill with the thick bushes
I push my body against the screen door, tumble onto a couch
that smells like mothballs
I wrap myself up in a mud soaked towel.
I wake to the sound of mumbling in the bedroom downstairs,
to the smell of breakfast cooking in the apartment
of the functional humans that live next door.
I am alone but I am light, I'm not heavy and not yet old.
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