If I was in a bad mood I would be everything.
But now I am the blood and the stoppage; now
The boots are on the ground and jumping - hard
As if to break the ice, but nothing budges,
The mole that beats its head against packed clay
In the midst (in fact)
Of a thunderstorm.
Now I am tangled in bed, in the folds
Of myself; and not
In the fields of the sun at play, with you.