Stress, like weeds invading the
Poet’s terrain. Complicating all–
Vortexing in veins. Breathe deep,
I guess that helps, but I
Need sleep. Only solution:
Shedding. Forgetting brick
Bags. Or rather leave them
Under mossed rags.
Stopped, looking for another
Crosswalk. All branches, a clock.
Ancient, these pulls, for me at
Least. The weather blend pushed me
Complacent. Where go those from opened cages?
Need reworking of stances. Where my only
Bristle colony dances.