they tell me i am bone.

my dry hair takes in as much

as the metal fillings in their teeth.

they tell me these things

like i need to know these things,

as if a charge to the veins;

like my blood needs current to spew.

my gums are rusty,

i have nails like dust.

the water in my eyes creaks down

like a thirsty worm.

they only touch me with oily fingertips,

even when i insist

that my heart grows with the world.

these limbs sleep rough,

but my heart blows through my ear.

i tell them i am not bone.

my dry hair takes in as much

as dreams and dreaming.

i tell them my heart works

in bursts.

i catch the air with iron hands.
my tongue can taste the morning glare.
i drink only to your smell.