Pomegranate seeds grind against teeth.
It hurts but I don’t stop until the Spring
to adopt a new obsessive habit.
I could give a colloquium on my anxieties.
Etch them deep into a chalkboard.
Write endless dissertations about
everything wrong in the world.
My bones feel the pressure of the past
a little too deeply.
Sentences drop before breathing in
complete thoughts are not my forte.
Each day starts with a run-on
that seems to escape before it can be read.
Tongues are transient, words depart from lips
faster than I can recite them
but one day I will bite the words back.
Capture the moment in my palms
hold on to it for as long as possible
releasing it according to my own terms.
I am learning to love the ephemeral
earth beneath me
being grounded is rare.
Raindrops dance
on my face
and I let them.