Unchained, the shoulders expand,
drop the boulders on the phantom's
feet breathing on your nape. You:
older, vigorous, yet new.
Look: the horizon seething,
although, surely someone
must have seized it. Already
a native sweats, freezes,
thinks occasionally, sometimes sneezes.
And his father worked the soil.
No. His father barely toiled, it was
his grandfather, if that.
The ground's intact, just like here.
Your shoulders only fill with fear
of running on your treadmill again,
to flee, as you have been.
You've been kind, but it's been done.
You've been wet, and you've been numb.
After you sneezed, you narrowed your
reddened eyes and decided to vacuum.
You thought during that, and after that you
stretched to feel life pulsing, to try to feel the power
of your arms in full swing.
It was convincing.
you confirm that by spying
around, you groan, or make any sound to lie.
Can you turn back though? How would you know then, if I
saw you tap your toe? But I, too, show.
Ennui is the twitch of knee
You can see that I, too, movement feign.
That I hunch from a cold neck, unchanged.