a wax sky drips over the street
three blocks from my house
where i first tried
to catch frostbite.

i wanted to trade
my clumsy hips
for a burning nest
of nerve endings.

my every instant
of poor impulse control
was a metaphor for that -
not the other way around.

i found a lot of poems
about bones and stars
while looking for advice
on how to live in this body.

i read that oxygen is toxic
so i hold my breath
in my throat
like a bruise.

airways burst
open;

snow touches skin
and turns to water.