Eighteen Hundred Dollars

I want to uproot this life

each radial finger, dichotomous

corn-hair from the husk.

I want to pry coldhard fingers

off of it

want to unravel the cross-stitch and run.

Want to feel the road stretching herringbone-

it is what you’d recommend.

I fish bronchi of stream-water

catacombs,

out from under this sand.

Aspen-grove arms of entrapment

constrict and anchor me still

I am strong enough to unclasp them

wisteria clinging,

un-clinging,

ripping away from both heels.

 

 

 

 

I feel

suffocated.

I want to     save

myself.

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