molecular

do you feel
yourself 
molecular?
the collaboration 
of thousands 
of little rooms--
the office building
in the city with
the green lights
up its spine--
sometimes when 
i can't sleep
i lay & think 
of 7th grade biology 
when we first really
learned about cells--
i think of them like
bedrooms to pace
in-- soft 
desk lamp glow
& end tables
to perch a coffee mug--
a window towards 
someone else's city--
what color are your
stop lights as they
reflect?
do you sit 
criss-cross on
the carpet floor
of your cells?
you nucleus boy
with the mitochondria 
harping on you
about needing more
energy--if 
we're going to 
have a metropolitan body--
we're going to 
need to stop
staying up
so late trying to
read the hotel bible
tucked in the top
desk drawer--
you feel yourselves
curled up
in bed-- wrapping
bones in 
psalm pages--
you turn to the story
of esther & 
recall it was 
your mother
who told you to
tempt kings but
never too far--
always in the name
of god--
you wonder if
god has ever been
this small--
a membrane--
vesticle & ribosome--
has he made churches
out of one of these
rooms?
how do we live
in so many small separate
spaces?
there's enough fire exits
to assemble into
poetry--
what parts of you
are angry & red &
heating up?
i decided to go
wandering tonight--
come with me
if you want--
i'm going door to
door to introduce myself
to each mosaic-me--
i've been thinking
we're less like a puzzle
& more like 
a broken glass of water--
take you time as
you take inventory
of all the floors
of your body--
if i'm not mistaken
your soul has an
elevator-- get off
on the fourteenth 
floor (which is
actually the un-named
thirteenth floor)
i'll be there carrying
a potted fern & 
pocket bible--
these margins--
these lock bolt doors--
turn a thousand door knobs
before one opens
& we come undone--
metropolis us--
a quiet shatter--
invade me 
like a bouquet--
i want to open
every single window 
i want to relearn 
capacity-- 
do you see me 
molecular-ly?
like a room
you could sleep in?