intangible comfortability
im at home
where no fertilized
substance seems to be

and all i ignited fell of my back
like sand from the whale pad
or rain drops from a duck tale

feather like we wave at each others
in corners and creeks
where its too dark to talk
or too bitter to meet
too open to ask for recognition
or too slate to conversate

tell me, for i'm not the meek
i will never be what i seek
and never see through different
periscopes than these three

i've summoned up my wishes
in a little rope

and now i bag it empty
leave it at the doorstep
and take it back at every entry

so i sound so seamless when i twist
in your waters

but in my private shallows
i soar roaring for difference
i cannot be
and will not be

satisfied with these hands
concepting, caressing, all this magic
to make with

and yet i feel i create few for myself
and more for the reasons

i cannot bare another season change
without feeling in pace
with my movement

in and out these three
doors.


for i lay nailed to the floor now
splattering.


what is the answer?
and what is the question?
restlessness once again, has its dent on me.