tremors

something runs through my nerves like

mexican jumping beans trailing

long spindles of silk.

At the end of the line,

a slight wallowing, a hollow

yearning for stillness and movement

and novel remedies to an ancient disease;

we were once locked in attics for

these unfounded shakings in a structure

once sturdy.

but who am i to question

the intuitive motions a body endures?

like an unfurling scroll of testament

to perennial adaptation,

the desiderata of my sensorium

will once again go placidly amid

sham, drudgery, and broken dreams.

still, when the drums roll

for change, for future dates merging,

or even for a thing as small as

the loss of a chair with a familiar view,

a constriction wells up

under sternum and scrapes at

the core of my complacency.

A scooping away of stagnant

yet addictive comforts.

And this is good.

Make way for the unknown

pockets of lucid sentience

down my rare-trodden lanes of

vicissitude!