The Pulse


It is pulsing.

Pul

      Sing

Pul

Gaining momentum.

Too thick to let go.

And so it throbs.

A reminder of an incessant knocking

At the bottom of your spine

That won’t back off.

(You can squeeze your eyes shut until you  see stars on the ceiling of your eyelids)

But, still there.

And you live with it.

Your cross to bear.

See? There is so, so much in a name.

It is all the difference.

It is the difference between that which we call a back ache,

And the pulsing.

Mind numbing, abacinating, scamperring

Effing pulse.

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