This thin covering isn't my skin, it is a continent adrift, a landscape.
Under the horizon of my chest there are oceans tumbling. Hold your breath.
Bones lashed tight, worn in hair and sinew throughout,
Don't ask me how it happened.
I have my boots to bear the leather. On which are the scars.
Scratched out across the steel half dome. Under which are my toes,
Gnarled and balancing.
One day I'll uncurl and spring. I'll be aloft.
It won't matter to anyone who isn't reading this.
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