I'm dragging my spine behind me.
Seeing enough and waking
Up early—that'll fix my energies
To the floor.
By three in the afternoon,
There are more rocks beneath
My shoes that I'd wish to kick off
But I can't risk blisters.
There are enough on my skin
And more things trailing behind
That I can't yet pick up.
When I do pick at the pieces dragged,
I throw them back on; waiting
For them to shed into items to be
Recollected—as they seem
To always do when I think
I've handled them well.