past the cement-dried form

I scrambled out of my body

twisted my threads into cords

shifted into something else

limbs too long, head too loud

an itch set too deep in these muscles of mine

to ever be caught ( touched, stroked,

embraced like a whimpering child )

my fingers reaching forward,

calling the moon and spitting seaweed from my mouth ( scratchy, wet,

blooming in the dark )

words like little pebbles

tumbling down,

once sharp, now smoothed out by fractured warmth

and the great blue ( crashing tides, millenniums of light-years

tucked away under the heart )

selfish thing, loving things, explosions and combustion

99 red balloons like mosaic tiles

rolling off my tongue,

moss green waves swelling between the ribs

emerald storms traced with gold

soft serpent snakes

made not out of hate but love

words and prayers

in the form of sea-glass

colored in the shades of my other soul

constantly reaching for the sun

breaking out of my cement-dried form ( blooming past the ceiling,

growing on eggshells and soil )

dancing more on things I used to, only tiptoe