gravity
gravity snaps my foot bones
into little pretzel sticks that
crunch when I walk
I wonder if I stand still
will I see the mice who
live in my knees skitter
down my shins to grab
the bits of bone and cram
them in their cheeks to
feed themselves, store
fat for the winter?
Or will ants come,
steal the crumbs
grains of salt and
march away in lines
while I lose my
will to live.
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