The Question of Bodies

where does blood die
along the way? I want to know
myself out of this body,
into the realm of soil and space.
the universe swirls each morning,
thrusting me from my bed.

I want a celestial body of my own
elemental formations instead of fragile
skin and nails. worship my orbit.
lick the rings of my planet and savor
the tang. this chair is only a prison
for the physical, not the thoughts.

reform me, creator, let me spill over the edges
like a tide.