move.

we are

the pushers and sluggers,

the muggers of indifference

towards inactivity.

spitting, vomitting, expulsing poetry

through every pore.

to say you can't live wealthily on writing

is one poor statement.

it is my food, drink, pillow at night, hands

that hold in cold weather.

i watch over pages and pens, seeing you

getting up for your 9-5

while i write my 9-5 pages

of movement.