Caught in boundaries of a rectangle.
All the inner angles more or less the same.
My father was a wanderer.
I am a box lover.
A spider in a turtle’s shell.
Driven by panic to all parts of town.
Who is putting on the brakes on my behalf?
Where do I fit the extra legs.
I am jelly inside.
Does an insect feel pleasure that matters less than a woman?
Is there sense of the world as flat bogus?
The bright orb of eventual nowhere shines high above all.
The entry point to this corner of Eden.
My heart hurts others like indigestion.
The woody spike causes me no less a pain.
The ‘moogalees’ are coming!
I am unimpressed?
They want nothing less.
A corner seems to suggest something worth visiting.
A circular drum does not.
Round the round and around the rounded. Endless?
Static versus mundane. Still?
What does all this have to do with the latest dream?
One that I now cannot hope to recall.
Hole in the ground.