Burpees

Sometimes you feel like a tree
doing thunderous burpees
out of earshot from town,

which is good because
you’d hate to hurt someone
who’d wandered out towards
the sound of thrashing.

Some of the webs in your hair
will never untangle.
The squirrels run your parents’ legs.

Ripped roads where you’ve dropped.
Eviscerated earth,
shiny as dawn.

Deafening silence,
but it does no harm.

Hug champion sun,
wind under your arms.

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