Many Shapes, Lost Sides

My thoughts
Are falling down my throat --
I didn’t want them to tip over.
My voice
Doesn’t sound the same anymore,
The tide of saliva was just too briny.
My jaws
Forgot how to unhinge their teeth,
But I never liked the gaps anyway.
My hands
Wonder why they are holding too much,
There is no room to let go.
 
Bliss has been kidnapped to the underground.
My chest
Is a slingshot with a taut rubber string --
The thoughts must be weighing it down.
Thank the Cells that it is elastic!
 
My neck
Urges the thoughts to keep absorbing
As it swallows forgotten bits of me:
 
My feet, my chin, my kneecaps …
My knuckles, my ribs, my shoulder blades …
They must be numb in the Underworld.
 
Heavier, and hopefully, brighter
As my skin creases into volcano folds
And earthquake bites --
Yes, I know that sometimes my brain
Can be jaded of blood
And my fibers
May all form a boundary
(They do not know any better) --
 
Yet my thoughts
Will surely shoot up
And fling back most of me.
This poem is about: 
Me

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