Choya Cyanide

The undertow-
pulling me farther down the river
injecting the feeling, sharp and fine
a sliver shooting up my spine.
Who walks this line?
Turning in circles, reeling, g-forces
pushing through time
ripping the slopes, breaking the blinds,
changing the breath-
the rhythm is mine.
Surrender and lightness crowds the mind,
filling me up, exploding behind a buzzing
that's rising from deep inside-
changing the world, the window, the climb-
giving the sight back to the blind.
Reminding us where to step over the mines.
Tripping through fields
running through deserts
climbing up mountains
stopping one time.
To remove the thorns- buried inside.
Jumping like choya cyanide.
The fish hook syringe-the sliver relies
on a thrashing passage, the travelers blind
without the caution to step aside-
the wound is a gift to imprint a rift
an earthshaking shift, to see all the time
the spine is a present, waking the mind.
so straighten it out- one breath at a time
and realize now, why we have been born-
the mirror has shown me- to embrace the thorn