Massive amounts of nightmarish steel dripping from my arms with no conviction to shake them off. I like this inertia, the way the winters wrapped its weight around me and turned me plump. I don’t want to stretch my legs or limbs or lungs, they’ve settled in to comfy shapes. instead, the pollen irritates my skull, kicks at the roots of my teeth and runs amok in the attic, banging boxes of old mementos and stirring up dust. How am I supposed to sit around and do nothing with all the racket up there?
