a mouse lives in my breast

or is it a bird? better to be a bird if this is to be a proper poem -- form fitting -- bird to wing-bird, like a hanger, or hinge-broke. I brokered for a clean bill

of health, I know nothing, only that it's a quiet thing that glows and sputters

the x-rays made a map; we looked at it together

a broken bolt held under

not like water but a type of fluid, pinkly clear

a body is so much of something to hold

I almost let it get away from me

some days are bright and sunny and it seems so easy to feel happy and optimistic. & it seems a little bit amazing that feeling happy and optimistic can be easy -- that it persists. the word it makes me think of is resilience.

I've been thinking about desire and fantasy, and thinking that desire is like a drive, is like vim. Desire as a site of possibility and health -- that to be in touch with one's desire is to be healthy. Like, wanting is good. This is different than thinking about desire as a lack. To me, right now, desire feels full.