Run

you called me a content papier-mâché 
of instruction manuals and recipes,
cut and dug from throw-away boxes,
shredded characters from stories
exhausted to fill empty nights,
never a step out of line,
never chasing heartbeats back
into my heart– no different from
a flat line, flat beep ringing through
empty white-washed halls that stink
of antiseptic and detergent;
teach me then how to put
one foot after the other, fast enough
to lose all sense of weight,
you told me to lose my breath
to feel numb from the toes of my feet
to my legs– run, run, run like
jesus was on my heels to take me back;
live you said, live, stop waiting
for a grand reveal–
there is an end we need not seek, you said
that will come no matter what we do
so fret I need not do, but break walls
and crack pavements as I go
chase rabbits down rabbit holes
and dream with open eyes hungering for
the ecstasy of a life lived full to the brim
like lungs spent of air 

xoximilco