Axial
Between the yes and no
angels dance
with purified daggers,
and in clean
light strokes
lop my head into my
hands.
My hair feels soft
as it becomes matted
in finger-formed creases
by the weight of stuff
that packs my noggin
tight
the bone alones a heavy
knot
but then with ears,
eyes, brain and tongue,
it adds up quick.
But if I sit
very still,
I can keep the blood
from running down
balance it,
pooled in the tubes
cut flush
with the severed flesh
and can watch
with clean eyes
as a new thinker
juts up
with a pop!