They serve me time

I can sit it out,
or I can rumble

I can think

Space is a mind game

My wrists are working ski poles
and bike handles

A few medicines travel with me
like characters
out of comic books

I animate my thoughts

They serve me time
straight out of nowhere

The underworld
has a spectacular pull;
flakes me out of here,
little by little,
bit by bit

Gravity has a decency
all its own

My face grumbles
just a little,
moves up, hunkers down

Resistence is an oscillation
that hums

My thoughts flocking
are dark and winged chirpers
with dino reminiscenses

My thoughts flocking
are The Calligraphers
of Desolation