My heart does one hundred meter dashes,
jumping at the reloaded gun.
The infantile hairs on my skin are erect,
as though blowing at high speeds.
--cannot catch up to my breath.
Sporadically,
at the apex of my rib cage something feels
trapped or collapsing in origami swans,
somersaults and am sitting still
listening to the bamboo wind chimes,
low & lightly in the late-after noon shade...
There is no further of going nor
West I can go,
and a sense I cannot share this feeling
-end of the road
with anyone.
Anxious, I guess.
And I don't ask,
because I am alone.
Is it uneasiness,
I never wondered
too hard
I'm afraid.
Painting By Arkhip Kuindzhi (1842-1910), Sunlight in Park (1908) and (http://kuinje.ru/) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
