I can walk farther without getting sweaty,
farther without losing breath.
Where I go is up to each day.
Today I bite my fingers
and watch the blood.
I push, it oozes
I blow and make rivers.
The tributaries are drying,
the source coagulates.
I sit and see.
The picture of my fingers looks dead;
it was so alive minutes ago.
Dried blood dries my words
and I decide to chase the cat around the house.
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