i’m beginning to think it may all have been a line; the black road and boundary of my life. straight line paralleling straight line. these lines caged by those lines. right angle junctures and white void between. line after line; each and all alienated.

i’m beginning to notice the chain and the lock. stand in this line, follow that line. don’t cross the line. don’t leave your box. a life spent drawing lines; a life spent in self-quarantine. too cowardly to step over; too spineless for the beyond.

i’m beginning to develop an allergy. so this next line, this is my line in the sand. and my extended foot. because i’ve come to realize now is the time for bend and arch. and trial runs of concave and convex. out of the box; out of the cage.

i’m beginning to recognize i am brightly wound. and this is my line. this is my bold, my daring. this is my sweet jeopardy. this is my adventure.