A Good Reason to Leave the City

I can feel myself

As I am: permeable.

Ideas and such—

I let them all in

Indiscriminately.

I become the city—

The hustle and bustle;

Everything seeping in:

Cultures, opinions, crusades,

All mashing around

Making a massive whirlwind in my belly.

It's where I come from, and it makes me sick

Indeed, it itself is sickness.

Spreading rhizomatically

It takes my left arm first:

To dissipate all thresholds,

Limitation, judgement.

I lose the will to fight off sin

It's so easy to be unclean:

You don't need to give it food

For it to be fed—nor is there any upkeep

To attend to. It's ancient knowledge

That dragons only grow unchecked;

That cancer is deemed inoperable

Only when discovered late.

So then becomes my project clear:

To grow this thing inside my gut

And show it off for all to see

Saying "This thing that grew inside of me

Is knocking at your door as well!"

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