A sapiens with loose skin

A sapiens with loose skin
I read a history of the world
and I’m obliged to report that
it’s loosened my skin
from underlying muscle and bone.
I used to revel in the stretch,
love the predictable 
deformation each time
I’d incidentally waltz
through a moment and joy
would bend my joints with purpose.
This history incised somewhere,
snuck in and slid right underneath
and cut all the fibrous, connective cords.
A bridge with its supports blown.
Calm: seated, star-spangled skin flaps
and sways me sideways
just like my thoughts.
Routine: walking, reverberations thrum 
and remind me.
Energy: in a sprint, I risk deforming
my character, and I can’t be returned.
This is what it feels like
to be corporeal but find no meaning.
My sense of strict adhesion to
principles, predictabilities, assumptions
is no more. 
I think we tend to think
that the knowledge we seek will bring
pearl skin, gleaming and desirable
and certainly beautiful.
Maybe there’s some Truth to the idea
that with sagging-skin age
comes “wisdom.”