my right hand and
my eyes in their pair
my hands and what they wear
i work with gloves on all of my phalanges
frantically i protect every part of my me
for it is my influence on this dust in a sunbeam
my right hand and
my eyes in their pair
i look upon endless clouds and start to stare
at nothing, not in particular, i’m looking at it all at once
it’s rough elsewhere, it’s an unfair affair
to be brought up where clouds can’t glow in pink puffs
my right hand and
my legs and their pair
brining me, bouncing up valley paths
i protect my legs by sitting in my chair
my pair of eyes in my head sink quickly...
sitting alone, in my hands, my eyes i catch
a tool felt to feel
my right hand and
my heart and whatever else that’s real
i’m sulking while scribbling into a book without pages
i’m hoping my hands can notate art beyond ages
my right hand and
my eyes in this body
they rob me of my mental autonomy
i’m a cloud of ideas
tied to a corpse full of energy
a person is a collection of pieces
most importantly, identity
and secondly, memories
all these bones and all this blood
they are what make people feel loved
my sophisticated biological machine prejudges
even what my right hand does
so my right hand and
my body that i wear
god willing, i goddamned
despair turns into prayer