whatever it was you liked or needed

the feeling returns
something like a tremble
from the outside towards the center
a summoning 
a physical memory of a connection
to the unseen
a dose of it, this ancient sense
remarking on 
the glory of it all;
the impossibility
with nothing short of lightning

and then a grounding.
reality again must assume everything
can be touched and conquered
and is whatever it fucking looks like

i am writing a poem
for the first time in months
and just now the computer on my wrist
reminds me to walk at least two-hundred and fifty 
steps this hour
or my time will not be counted 
i will not progress

sometimes i do as it tells me
or, as an alternative 
peer into a MacBook Pro 
with more than twenty-five open tabs 
leading me to infinite permutations
of brief, dissonant escape

it is bleak, but i am still summoned
i listen and respond
to the old and powerful vibration
in my heart

do these milestones;
this progress towards adulthood
represent more than the breaking 
of a horse?
maybe the strongest wills have a secret wish 
to be broken
to be softened 
into something more favorable and more tenable and 
whatever it was you said you liked or needed

all the editing before the thing is written
interrupted by electrostatic discharge
the chaos of control