When it's not a Choice

I mostly hear the ringing

of thoughts in gridlock

running their calculations,

not for my benefit, no,

but how to please you,

to turn down my heart

and her gracious offer

to rock me, back and forth,

until her muscles tire

and she beats her drum

one final time, for me,

completing her life’s concert,

in dedication to delivering

these steady bones 

and this tender skin

into the animation of living.

I’m desperate to know,

how do I stay here?

I keep slipping between

her walls of shelter and 

the iron fists of old thoughts

with their pressing feet

running along my spine,

pinning me down on a life

that doesn’t look like mine.

My mind on one shoulder,

the old sage of my body

patiently waiting on the other.

Must I keep remembering

with wakefulness to choose,

or can I lift myself like the sun,

cracking the quiet darkness

to spill herself out until empty?