Thrum by Cody Davis

I have a pulse, but its hard to find.
It splits up into capillaries,
Cris-crossing like Texas highways,
until it finds its way to a vein in my forehead,
or my knuckles,
where it bleeds out a gash
between my pinky and ring finger.

It don't sound like no other pulse.
It does not push back in twos,
Or slow down when my eyes close dead.
It keeps pushin' real fast, like a drum roll,
And it never stops moving.

I ain't seen pictures of where it comes from.
Other people have a muscle in their chest.
They say it pushes blood.
They say it keeps them alive.

Well I ain't seen a muscle in my chest.
There's just room for breathin',
space for movin',
and time for wastin'.

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