my head could explode
it’s funny that, we use these
morbid or dramatic descriptions
because it seems to me
that our bodies can’t contain,
can’t maintain
the worlds within,
that shift and then
keep us turning,
orbiting, yearning
the hearts we carry
bending and burning
the galaxies that spin
outside us or in
is it bliss or a sin
because id sell my birthright
to drink a tall glass of gravity.
maybe im not all right
maybe it’s my sun sign
or the shadow of myself
that keeps the words inside
& the books on the shelf
maybe it’s because the moon
maybe it’s the way you move
the tide, the sun, the cool shade
maybe it’s mars in retrograde
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