"Bodies" [by Kirsten Chen]

What a hassle!
It’s been so much to keep.
Burnt wrist, hang nail, the weight
of 3 p.m.
Obstacles of hair and heat
behind knees. I want
red clay for breakfast
and have no use for bags.
My limbs extend already
the whole city’s width.
Feet in the Hudson
head in the East river
skin screaming down the FDR.
I would like to swallow twenty
tulips whole and grow them
out my belly.
I would like to blink into
the old towns of Edam,
eyes in the sandstone, mouth
full of whey.
I would like to keep to myself!
Or anybody else, and try
impermeability.
Is there not yet an algorithm for this
for everything?
Upload me! Download me!
I’ll take the shot I can
to get beamed
through the moon-roof
part and parcel of sky.