Maybe my head really is in the clouds, and if it is, my body is left behind.

With all the floating numbness up here, I forget that my spine is misaligned. I forget my wounds and the abrasive surfaces of the skins of people and their minds.

Large, heavy bones made bare from muscles torn and loose

give creatures their turn to feast. This corporal thing is me.

With all the joyous dreams up here, there’s an ever-presence in my ears. Sometimes I wake to ask: What are those sounds? I hear my ragged bones dragging across the ground.