& eat th bear of nothing but death to look forward to...

some days, some nights i slink back, shrink down- retreat & backslide

into barely conscious kiddie fear

waking up only as i walk into th cold gust of it-

th fear, th acceptance, th cramped grid of city buildings tottering

above...

no quiet

coffee chatter on th radio competing w/ live humans impatient for their

double latte

another day, another neofolkie songstress

hooking into my ghostly desires

my bones nothing but brittle, hollow flutes fail to keep my skin in place

or

attached- i may believe i am free again

after i finish my hour on this ill-defined job of reaching & reaching out

to

receding mirrors of subjectivity never quite flesh out into being...

another quirk, another recognisable illusion crumbling for th sake of

authentic cutural dreams reborn...

& you think/that love is only/for th lucky or th strong...

d=(8{>