Creativity is great, but plagiarism is faster

Through winding tunnels to caves of
Atria and ventricles, cooled by the caressing
Fugitive; through trap-door valves
And out into overworked arteries
Serving refreshments to toes and fingers
Parched by blistering friction, touch
I feel a breeze blowing through my veins
In the first rays of morning cresting the eastern hills
Thrusting themselves over the precipice like
Soldiers scaling a great wall, they pierce their
Blue adversary with fiery spears of conquest
I feel a breeze blowing through my veins
In dopamine dances and adrenaline
Orgies, in testosterone tempests and
Estrogen earthquakes
I feel a breeze blowing through my veins
When the rickety bus rumbles and
Weaves through the mountains and down
Into the dust devil valley
To each city of my childhood
I feel a breeze blowing through my veins
Huddled beneath the third
Alcove of the Heping Gate, last defense of Nanjing
No intruders but plangent precipitation
To batter the brick fortress
I feel a breeze blowing through my veins
Watching the second hand circle from
The equator, swooping over Asia,
Africa, America, and Atlantic
Rectangular storm cloud ticking, like
Sixty raindrops a minute hitting
My watch
I feel a breeze blowing through my veins
From the cocky pendulum of the ball
In the glove, down past the hip, above
The shoulder, to the ear, and release
I feel a breeze blowing through my veins
Curled up with cider and cinnamon
Meditation centered in flames
Roping and writhing ‘round their
Wooden victim in the heat of the
Kill
I feel a breeze blowing through my veins
On the ridge above time and Redfish
Lake glistening, glinting, gleaming
Blue—lascivious sand and voluptuous
Shores, the fish blush
I feel a breeze blowing through my veins
Seeing something like faith
In the skyscraper skyline
Too high to grasp, so I
Wrestle with its silhouette
I feel a breeze blowing through my veins
When she lets the words marinate on her lips,
Tasting their flavor on the tip of her tongue before
Asking what I’ve waited weeks to hear
I feel a breeze blowing through my veins
While a purse thief sprints up, but mostly
Down congested streets of the Gaslamp Quarter
After 5, bald head holding the fading light,
Fading into night sticks descending on one or both temples
I wish I remembered
I feel a breeze blowing through my veins
Looking for perspective
On a mountain—finding it in
A subway
I feel a breeze blowing through my veins
In the frenzied freeways and
The silent streets
I feel a breeze blowing through my veins
Not across the base of my nose
Or tips of my ears—not a gusting,
Vulgar wind, just a soft,
Steady whistle, aimlessly stroking
The prodigal blood on its journey

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