Hips

Hips

There are over 300,000 lives in my hips.

Seriously.

Minuscule bulbs snugged into organ fists.

Do 300,000 souls,

Who,

Are invisible blue,

Peer through air and time?

Do they stare through the flat plates of my pelvis

Right through the snaky spine?

Do they look at gooey DNA beads

Suspended, the stuff that makes me,

And laugh as I go about blundering

In time caught reality?

Do they gasp,

Secret angel gasps

Waiting for, to my egg,

be appended?

And do they feel secret knowing feels

While hugged so long inside me

Suspended?

I walk about, doing that, saying this,

With 300,000 lives

Built for biology magic

Swinging,

Stowed,

In my hips.