Untitled 9.21.11

The pending inchoate, the nearly complete,
purpling, lips about to part for that first gasp.
Perfect. A perfect job of keeping itself alive.
It doesn’t even have to want to.
The lungs and the heart
and the oxygen coupling and uncoupling in the bloodstream.
Effortless. He grows up and living
proves painful, the very living that was once
too simple, too easily done.
At least his cells are holding up
their end of the bargain.