75% Human

Of course there are the stereotypes
that we fill every capsule that we are given
that we assume the boundaries of our life
what we are poured into we are contained by;
that when we flow freely,
we cleanse and take with us that which is impure
allowing it to be in us,
not of us,
a precipitate fine enough to flow like dark wine;
The pattern of opinion differs from person to person
and from this time-whetted eye
These deeply-carved finger pads
we seem to be so much more than that,
we behave like ice,
finding the cracks in our vessels
and expanding within the depths of them
until we are open and pour out;
and when we flow,
we flow like a supercooled fluid,
we move down and uphill
pausing everything that we come into contact with
shattering each leaf with crystals and cool.

Why are we this?
When our bodies expand and contract through the seasons,
pressing within the confines of our skin
we’re battling liquid
fighting the natural tributaries of thought and silt
that have collected as we age;
we run
and still remain liquid
and pushing within the confines of our existence.


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