The Falling of Me

They’ve taken your pulse: A frozen core that bleeds Ice and a shivering cold. Stolen your eyes: The registry of a visual wealth Embraced by tight lids of poverty, Falling in a manhole filled with famined piranhas Seeking the last gelatinous marrow Of your standing worth. An agency so far removed, The outgrowth of amnesia With a blunted tongue And a steriled heart, I wobble out in rot and mold. But keep my shape with a stubborn hold Gripping the dawn With bones and disjointed limbs I gasp for breath in my exhaustion And move away from the immediate calculation, While my body takes the lead All that raises me For a minute, expired and forgone— But in that hour, an inch of me is reclaimed. Not because of me, but the vapors That bring a new warmth in the coming of centuries.