(no subject)

Sometimes your legs are made things.
Others, things less you toward the feet.
Sometimes they're you as much as your eyelids or hands,
like your skin was a one-piece garment, your body one limb.
Now and then they're a number of discrete parts
leaning on one another like breadsticks or pillows.
Sometimes they're holes down which your sense of self falls.
Sometimes they're bones with strange padding.
Your legs are so vast, sometimes.