my head is not a jungle here
it’s grown too deep—escape
the ugly underbrush
fighting resistance
through points reminiscent
to here… now
I can’t remember anything—
where—there I see no past.

Your hands on me,
strip it away, heal
cleanse the mud and muck
waist deep, that I’ve been wading through--
roll it into a ball of fire
--and toss it
exploding against white walls

using this energy
that guides me
to float away forever
never come back
to this world,
here, I’m grounded


words: Timothy Gager, Massachusetts (TimothyGager)
image: Steve Wing, Florida (about & more)


BluePrintReview - issue 17 - Bodyscapes