body uncertain.

 

The thing with 

Transformation

Is it’s one way

You don’t turn to stone for a hundred years, and come back to life without confusion at everything’s hectic pace and a hatred for pigeons 

I have been turned into a mouse

And been restored 

But part of my soul still skitters for the skirting board

When a screen door slams

I have been turned into a fire 

And gone cold 

But my soul still throws off sparks

When someone has the same name as you

Just that syllable, pyrogenic 

I have been turned into a sunbeam 

For a second

A stream of photons

Wave and particle and woman

And matter can never completely claim me back

​

So if I become the dark

I carry in me all previous states 

As I will carry the dark from now on too

Part of me

In perpetuity 

​

No one is a straight line 

We are derivatives off a curve

An approximation in the moment

To capture a state of change 

​

I can become anything but unmoving

Even in this cell

I seethe

​