Running Wild

My head is full of fire
and grief and my tongue
runs wild, pierced
with shards of glass.

― Federico García Lorca  

 
 
my tongue trips awkwardly
spilling over fresh waters
absent and present,
Burning.
feeling confined
limbs twisted, aching
head pounds mercilessly
Distracted.
breaking loose, hanging
wit matches temperament
offending the unsuspecting,
Allowed.
wrenching fingers peeling
away from the heart’s container
reviving the softened earth,
Ashes.