Backpack

Why do I always wear a backpack 

When I walk out the door

Is it distraction?

Am I any more than 

word's refraction

And this load no more

Than added weight

No more than back contraction?

One day as now

My backpack squishes me

I bow gratefully

As jelly surrounds my field of vision

Turning sight in to its bare

Intuition

Why does my back pack carry nothing

But butts of parchment

I never intend to read

Smelling sootier indeed

Becoming fags 

As they roll themselves

Into disintegration

This now as a day

My backpack covers me

As best it can 

Upturned I nest

The weight transforms

It bursts in wet

An I am filled by a wait

Under neath a walkside tree

Where is the weight 

That I meant myself remain

Like the witerature

Of impossible grasp

Like the spur

Of beautiful, impossible tasks

I shift On stooping stalks

Of Maybe wealth

Of Maybe pain

Of Maybe a chance 

That this next look 

Might not yield the same 

I wear my shoes and clothes on too

For insides, prides

And cleverancy's slew

Of delegated missives

Buzzing my brain in hive

It's living slain behind 

A throw of weight 

And bad pressure mind