What I Am


I am a collection of pastel colors,
a wrapper hugging tight to a plastic bottle.
I am the fabric on your jeans, the maroon
on your nails. The sweet on your tongue.
Talking in preposterous voices, speaking
with fluent rushes of gold on the pavement
underneath your wristbands and ring pieces.

Shots of ice strands in every direction,
shocking metal bullets with a tang
of lightning electricity, breaking muscles
and chewing blood.

I am everything tiger and everything rat,
the things your fluid minds can fathom,
and the tunnels under sticks and mud
that they cannot.

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