clings to the rail
skirts the edge,
sine-waving all over the sidewalk.
clung-clung-clang on thin bridges
torso wants the ground
hair wants the five feet,
arms want to clothesline strangers, teeth to dig into faces of nearleaning friends, legs the radials of 18 wheelers, throat clearing constant in libraries, the fuck-thefuck-thefuck, even reading a book, full-on engaged, hands reach for low hanging powerlines
he begins to lean