The words steam ahead, dragging me on
I have to sift them: are they true, or just exciting?
The feet keep doing walks and dances
Are they happy, I ask them, or running from something?
The days don't stop; the questions don't stop
Gritty grains of joy get caught up in the big, loud aches
The tiny people are saying words
The fingers keep counting out something that won't add up
Are sentences ever really new?
Possible to string them along like never before?
Ooh, polite, polite. Why not break things?
Why use words when jackhammers and ripping clothes would do?
I have all the bones and connections
Everything that is supposed to make up a person
Why should I brag of my slow blindness?
Why twist this body into the small hiding places?
Well then, joy. Rip off the concealments!
Unpack the colors I can't see, laugh in fat riddles!