Ishtar.

You make me feel like a kid
Again
In nice
And not nice ways

I am luxuriously giddy
At the prospect of potential
(I touch you and my brain
Turns into molten plastic)
Of all the synapses we might extend
Toward one another

Here, for every stumble forward
There is recoil in my muscles
(This is a fear I have not felt
Since I was very young)
There are avenues within me that
Beg new exploration
Stoppers I now have to throw away
It's impossible to tell what I looked like
Before those things

I will not be a glacier
I will tear open my skull
And produce an offering of my barest self
I'll find the anxiousness inside me
And harness its pure energy
To erode away the cold sheer face of the glacier
The enemy

And on Easter, how appropriate
That I might realise a rebirth
Peck peck pecking at the eggshell
To smile into the dawn

You are warmth upon my fresh face
You voice is the cadence
Of the very first breath

Evolution.

By the end of today

I'll attach a gravity to several things

Banal, flighty, uncontained

And let them sink me down

Where the fish bones keep

Where the sea is deep

Rich with a thousand million tiny monsters

Too prismatic for chance

By the stroke of the hour

I will make new bones

And drink all the saltwater I can find

Effluent will pour from my mouth and the plants

Will make me green

I am full up

My muscles and the built up waste

Let nothing pass my cavity

Except oxygen, ions, bare essentials

Whirling around the knots of my musculature

Screeching into electrical balance

By the end of the year

Two things may occur:

I will be porous and brittle

Supported by the network of spongy skeleton

And pierced all sides by water

Or perhaps, more likely

I will exoskeletally reinforce my skin

And spit wax on the ground and burrow

The final split is never far

It is ever ongoing