counting– least favorite thing to do.. as
no matter how hight the number, it always
returns to zero, somehow. is it just me? this
is what seems to always be– the quiet
bothers, for noises ballet hops over
trellis. I can only embellish.
Angular sermon, what side’s most genuine–
maybe the paleontologists’ll dig this up, someday,
then it’ll read more colorfully. Sense, common so
rare. another letter from messaging birds, raising
him to understand symbols, or share translations useful.
See if it works. But it will. He’s already more read.
No loan, covering my own bones in what’s a packaged stone.
Singing to strangers. Hoping they don’t know a clone.