Before, I was perfecting loneliness.
Miser over my horde of
every time it didn’t pan out.
Beetle-skinned and rolling my dung right on through.
Gravitating towards the trudge,
teeth clenched, cursing the Higgs Boson.
To have weight is to be weighed—
balance jerks and tugs down real heavy.
Imagine Atlas shrugging himself onto his own shoulders:
the bearer the burden he has to bare,
but barely borne.
I had to double check that the cement wasn’t wet,
and that my shoes hadn’t been laced with wads of chewing gum.
But recently I’ve been learning to fly
It’s easy, you just learn throw your weight around
and miss. Breezy, chatty,
you’ll find me floating a few inches off the ground.
Maybe it’s too late.
I’m flying down deserted streets,
my grin hides nothing. If you were there—
plain to see I can’t gain purchase.
And throwing elbows just careens me around the room.