on pots and steam

watched pots don't boil. i spill over into the morning.steam rising from chest to eyelids and out into the open world. fingers curl to palms and already i am raging and thrashing in time with the heatwaves.

i string fences with tension. pulled tight to each post. wire lines not to be crossed.

i repeat and repeat and repeat and repeat and repeat and reapeat.
this knock down get up knock down.

the suggestion becomes statement. the boundries erected.
pliers in hand. i enter this day.