No will set you free


I am trying to avoid aching because of a moment’s pleasure.


You do not have my attention.


I googled the definition of ‘enraptured’ feeling the word fall out of my mouth at a customer.


It is precisely how I do not feel.


I fucked the left side of my lower thoracic and upper lumber,

cracking my back last night.


I began cracking joints around age eleven.

I was staying with friends, my parents on tour, I went to a day of eighth grade with my mom’s friend’s daughter. I do not recall why I had the day off from school.


We rolled our heads and wrists in circles: drama class.


The audible crunching yearned for a more substantial release.

I awoke to my smaller bones.


In the night I was completely sober, I finished the last page in the Octavia Butler novel,
I drank the last sip of rooibus.


You might read me as an expert and it is true,

a bedtime ritual has never been more fine-tuned and yet.


Twisting to the left I thought for sure

I would ripple like a deck in a seasoned dealer’s hands,

but it was to the right that I shifted back into place.


I woke up aching because of that pleasure.


Infuriating and familiar inflamed vertebral tissue

adjacent to your pictures, your ever present community.


All day I am awake to my petty bones, asking

a higher conscience to shake them loose.