Early in the morning putting tired feet
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on the warm wood floor. Pausing to hold
the breath, to enable muscle. Massive
weight heaved aside, annoyed at having been
moved at all. It takes enormous effort
to get into a standing position.
Getting used to the tricky position
of having to take steps with swollen feet,
and the awkwardness of movement, Effort
takes on a new name. Reaching out to hold
on to something for balance, having been
robbed of any equilibrium is massive.
Stretching strong legs, that are oddly massive,
gaining in steadiness, the position,
is freeing. Able to let what has been
held onto go. Believing that the feet
will carry the weight, not needing to hold
onto anything else and trust effort.
Waddling down the hall, a draining effort
using so much energy that massive
batteries would bleed if they had to hold
so much weight. Getting into position,
beside the scale, unable to see feet,
or remember what the numbers have been.
Looking down to read, having been
deprived of the view. Struggle, effort,
to see over the bulge, down to where feet
spread fat on the metal step. The massive
size making a dent from this position.
Number wheel jerks until itís able to hold.
Trying to lean over, to see, and hold
the breath to prevent a shift that has been
made from standing offset. This position,
queer, the metal softly folds from effort
of watching over a trunk so massive
that one questions the existence of feet.
Breathing kept on hold, such glaring effort
used to settle in place once the massive
form steps back to the floor on stable feet.
smart, eloquent, friendly: the voice of your next project.