Healing Hermann Hesse
Hermann wants to eat nicotine sometimes.
He has asks for a lot
He paces space to make himself nervous
Because some people are just better at surviving
Than living.

If you want to get heavy, he'll teach you.
He knows it
He spends his time falling from the weight
He's got a lead brain
It's a battle magnet
He carries it around by the guilt straps

Don't laugh
You didn't see the size of the blizzard
that birthed him
Fits of snow, cotton rocks
Whipped white bullet stretches
pinned with chips of teeth
to his habit of crying for help
He doesn't land well
Hates landing.
It reminds him of not living up.
Listen.
I know there were days you wanted to die.

Hermann will not bow down to gravity
Falling, he catches up to himself midair
Just before the ground smacks
Pull throat, they call him
Sharpturner
Nothing touches the ground here
The ground is a capacity
He sees that.
He falls back
He patches parachutes together with a kite knife
It's big enough to raise him in the updrafts
Where he hides himself away inside angles of air
Outlined by his knack for believing
That this life...
It's gonna work itself out.