somewhere in the almost translucent folds
of my cells, herby nodes extend toward
the surface moody, raw, iodized day
breathes ancient down the neck of my jacket.
I can’t believe I convinced him of the
virtuousness of change, to cold turkey that
blissful, lacey inertia like a bad
habit or carbohydrates or regret.
stopping is a human condition, dear,
used to compensate the wild, persistent
expansion of the cosmos keep tight and
sweet inside like valentines or carrots.
greet the stain of ginger on your rice
paper skin there’s merit in going no
where there’s value in lying unfurnished
ready to be fed