On the move.

A cold two days prior, but this bus travels me south regarldess of I feel. Funny, but not laugh out loud or crippled with spasms or silent bursts of spasmotic convultions. No, funny in the sense that it’s not really funny at all.

Southward. Pulled by gravity alone, by the weight of these restless legs and the angle of my decisions along this road.

The ship wanes westward and this curve bends backward in a closed-cycle loop from here. I can see all the way into the past if I’m looking up on a moonless night. Venus and a comet sailing its way to death in the sun.

My sun.

Someone talked to me, yesterday, like I was in the know. I thought, secretly, I am only alive. Another spoke to me like I was just one other piece in the magnitude of society. I thought, then, secretly, I am the world.

My arms stretch wide and leaves fall from my fingertips, orange and red and brown dried-up. My spine goes from my skull down into the center of molten rock at the core of this sphere my feet are planted on. Up from roots sunk deep into composting soil, the tendrils of my heart find nutrients and nourishment for life. I am, but for a few seasons, alive. More meticulous llife beyond me will destroy this beating organ and return those bones and minerals from whence they were once extracted.

The burden this body bears is strange, but it is mine — alone — to carry. Carry it into the fire, the wind and rain, the storms that circle around my head like lazy vultures waiting, patiently, for my end.

When I end, this world will eat me.
And life from my belly will sprout like a seed my birthing planted in my core.
There was no way to remove it, but one day it would surely sprout.

Funny thing is, I have been waiting. I’m not sure why.
Possibly, I felt that seed more than I felt the ghosts that bore it for me. More than I loved the lines my wires got tied to. More than the lies I was told at some point were the point. I learned, pretty quick, that the thing I thought was wrong was this life, beating wings — waiting to be born.

I am a phoenix egg, and I hold my fire until it cannot help but burst forth.
Please don’t stand too close or you might get burned.


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