My poetry for you
is like physical therapy;
I do my exercises
then the brace comes back on.
I let it X-Ray my chest,
dig into my muscles.
Let them warm me up,
stretch my own truth.
I’m on the brick track and
running from desire;
my heart is a muscle
rogue in my chest.
My lungs scream
maybe just stop breathing,
for my blood is a poison
I course through my body.
Wild Bull
