Poise and reckless propositions.
this knot in my stomach. a stone sitting on my intestines. it’s strange how there is no physical solution to this physical feeling, but an emotional, invisible solution such as language or thought that will grind this stone to gravel then dirt then dust. shouldn’t i know how to grind that stone? this isn’t the first one to pressure my guts and make my day uneasy and anxious. shouldn’t i know how to grind this stone? this abdomen… the divider of my body and mind. the conqueror of my confidence and self-respect. i suddenly don’t like myself. everything starts draining toward that equator like a rapid river beckoning for its solemn sea. my eyes feel tired and my lips feel tired and my heart feels tired. I close two of those but the hole in my chest gapes toward the waning moon, asking that beloved white rock and that starry cape she owns to give hope and reason to the chest and stomach and mind. my lungs inhale the chill of night and the chill of indifference and i sit down and bow my head, straining my neck where my shoulders arch to the center of my upper back. atrocious, haphazard feelings rummage through the rest of my integrity and the stone grows, not grinds, in my stomach, filling it with indiscriminate doubt.
