Literature
1:41:54
i am the mouse that never
stops running for the cheese,
paws bound to wrought-iron
wheel blinded by desire.
to be poisoned by a whiff
on the wind, to forget feeling, to run
legs steady as the pulse
of sea against sand, the static
thump of coming and coming
and coming
to want for something bigger
than myself but to be too
consumed to remember
what it is,
what i have become,
what have i become,
but to know
with the same certainty that the pulse of waves
and song-struck blood come and come
and come, the first pinprick of victory
to reach my heart
will never.