I might reply: nothing but
so neural and nervous oh
so neural and nervous oh
and you might ask me what
I might reply: nothing but
that wing on your head
that bell in your bed—agitated
you might ask me why
I might reply I'm just trying
to get by
locked into that locked-out sensation
a confession penned
by the hand to the mouth
of the fear of being eaten
you might ask me what
and I might reply:
we're ready already