An involuntary
movement of muscle
Resuscitates my death
And pushes me
forward,
Even against my will.
Should I long to hold
my breath
And venture into deep
sleep,
My flesh should
overcome me
With mundane commands
And contingencies eternally
in the making.
Though my chest rises
and caves,
With each resounding
breath
Taken for granted is
that very breath;
That air,
That freedom,
That life.
All taken for granted
voluntarily.
-
7/16/09,
MR
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