What bones are these?

Typing, hanging between gravity’s decisions.

Metaphors hardly capture the way

my capillaries dance, imprecisely reasoning

whether one can see both sides of a coin. Philosophically,

a coin only has one side, the side that is visible.

My body and its cells, want the solution to be existence

on all plains, though, the joints, the cartillage

and the flesh covering them to exist as song,

to be beat and backbeat, note and rest. Apple

skin and seed on the same plane. My mind and heart want

too much, lost time,

the love, its impossibility, mountains & sea,

distant desire, awareness & absolute silence,

the layering of sound and its ability to map

the edges of pain but physical, these tissues

don’t make sense of it. This is why

the tips of my fingers are as a far math goes.