I let the glow of the headlights
and the glow in your eyes
guide us home.

Faint chords of an old rock song
drifting out the radio,
your breath
fogging the window

You, me,
a billion points of light
hanging above our tired heads.
And then you whispered quietly to me:

"These are the moments I remember."
The cream of your voice
Dragged me back from the clouds
and I turned to you.

"these are the moments I live for."
The slight furl of your lips
and the reflection of the moon in your eyes
hurled me back into my daydreams.

And then we were silent.
And the world felt right.

Our brains are jellied by the surreal.
Wires disconnected, rearranged,
our circuit boards frazzled.
The reflections of human faces and bodies
scrambled signals.
Eyes not looking past the crooked fingers
or freckles.
All you see is the dirt, the rust,
you can hear only the creaking joints,
and the groans of your muscles.
But your audience, your lovers and families,
they don't know about those awful sounds
they only see the flowers, hear the music,
a melody of glowing bare shoulders
and a chest filled with life,
a hundred systems,
working in unison to hold up your head.
I never liked the way my hips stuck out,
my ribs, flesh pulled taught against the bones.
Or my pale skin,
I glow in the sunshine.
Baking soda, salt,
awful tasting elements alone,
but they both get mixed into the batter,
overpowered by golden eggs,
sinful sugars,
and the cake itself,
baking soda and all,
well,
it's ******* delicious.

Do yourself a favor and keep scrolling.
Our first snowfall began at 9 a.m. this very morning.

Down came crystal ice, lacy clouds, and with it came the seasonal side of human troubles. I found my self transformed into a filthy romantic, gazing longingly out the window, wrapped in a wool blanket and holding my little brother who smiled at the Frosty the Snowman cartoon on TV. With the cold always comes the chills. The ones that shimmy up your shirt as you stand in the bathroom, trying not to look in the mirror while you undress. The chills that creep into your veins through open wounds and wind themselves around your rib-cage. I couldn't feel the warm air shooting from the vents while I sat beside them. I couldn't taste the Jack-In-The-Box daddy brought home at midnight. He put on an old movie and slowly everyone drifted to sleep. That's when I stole a few hours for myself. Taking my little doe-eyed puppy out into the yard, tossing him into a snowdrift for the first time. He cowered there for a moment, before darting back onto the deck, staring in awe and terror down at the snow. I lit a stolen cigarette and plopped down into the freezing mess.

I had a little too much to eat and felt like sleeping right there in my dampened jeans and Joe's Crab Shack t-shirt. I thought about putting out the Pal-Mal stick and being a straight-laced little girl for the holidays. I thought about the stinging of my latest stress-relief therapy (a bit of a home remedy) and also about Robert Plant's hair. Soon enough, after endless replays of my favorite music videos, my mind had emptied. The frigid air had ****** all my thoughts and memories from my head like a vacuum cleaner. All that remained was a sense of impending doom. A needle in the base of my skull, every nerve-ending in my body was pinched by icy fingers. Someone was calling my name from inside me, My own skin was shifting and rippling over my muscles, trembling and tingling. There was somewhere I had to be, something I should be doing, someone who needed my help. I sat up and looked around the yard, from the chain link fence, to the gorgeous view of the valley and the city *******, to the ugly siding of my manufactured home. My eyes darted back and forth, my puppy, the chicken house, the dead rose bush. I was alone, alone with my dog in a white miracle. Every snowflake looked like a stray bullet, raining down on me from the gods, but kissing my cheeks and melting on my feverish skin. I wished i could fall like that, and drip onto someone's lips or cling to their eyelashes.  But i was here, alone in the darkness with smoke-scented gloves and breath, in a yard of dead grass frozen in a flood.And then I started to cry. I didn't know why, I still have no idea what kind of madness washed over me as I shivered, my *** soaked and my nose running. But I sobbed and sobbed and put my head between my knees. The snow had gathered on the shoulders of my woolen pea-coat and sprinkled down as I shook and gasped, I must have sat there for half an hour, listening to a train go by in the valley, singing to the empty streets, trying to pull myself together. I'm still shivering even sitting here in my warm bed. But at that moment, I was as fragile and fleeting as the very dust that had settled across the entire town.

I managed to dry my eyes and stumble back through the front door tailed by a whimpering brown pup. Everyone, still crashed on the couches and floor, unaware of the scraggly disaster crawling through the living room. The Christmas tree twinkled in the corner and the TV played static. I kissed my baby brother on the forehead and slipped my lighter back into my coat pocket. The season had set in, the snow was here to stay. I was left wondering about the madness of  the season and the sanity of the skies.

Every year,  water freezes mid air and falls onto the earth in heaps of cold white heaven. It's a ******* miracle. It happens every year without fail and yet somehow it surprises and amazes us every time.

I used to hurl myself at the idea                                  
that your body is a craving,                                        
a fire to be stroked.                                                      
Ne­ver did I feel that heat,                                            
the heat of skin on skin,maybe,
but the "fire in your *****"
"passion in the rippling bodies"
never.
Were my *****'s a little loose?
They all spoke another language
with their hips and lips
and the fingers grasping at the hem of my skirt.
I flicked them away.
Sent them dancing in reverse down my leg
and back to the party.

Forced myself to play into the ****** game
of who done who.
But I never lost a round.
And I never lost my *******, either.
Because once I felt the walls come down
I was a ghost.
I was water,
slipping through your fingers
left nothing but a wet spot on your trousers
and a little annoyance at your dumb luck.

Keeping my flowers on their stems.
I let the hands find me,
call it peer-pressure.

I let Lewis and Clark
explore my terrain.
They both left positive feedback
and told everyone
about their grand adventures
in my mountains and valleys
and swift, coursing rivers.

I was busy playing hide and seek
in the closet
with the boys and girls
and forgot to mention
that all I wanted
were a few kind words
and a hand to hold.

Busy keeping pace with the promiscuity
of my youth
and losing track of those sweet little wisps
of lovers,
fleeting.
Eluding my fingers,
slipping through them
like water,
leaving my eyes a little wet
and the rest of me
damp with a dark shade of gray.

Maybe I am just afraid.

of what?

Of everything.

We are born not of flesh
carved from the visage of mother and father,
We are born of nebulae,
of a symphony in the snow and
the seeking of knowledge we never acquire.
We are birthed for
good.
We are grown in
evil.
Our lives nothing more
than the squealing of wheels
as they spin in our
sempiternal filth,
a footprint in the dust since God said
"Let there be fear and malice".
Faces of dead, liquored men,
shovels in our piracy
digging for hidden treasure in the graveyard.
So we crawl in the holes and
cover each other up.
Insulting the demons who pull us through,
blessing them
with good tidings.
We go at our passing, to face the Devil.
God as our jury,
your hamartia plays witness.
I am driven only by my fantasy of tomorrow.
What a way to live.
What a way to die.

Infatuation bought you time
to infiltrate the delicate tubes of her heart and organs
with pretty words
and the stroke of your fingers
dancing along her collar bones.
She was a violin wailing sweetly
in the broken silence,
wisps of your hair in her fist
as you demonstrated to her your lustful
affection.
She clung to you.
knowing she was an instrument,
never admitting to warfare in her blood
that boiled in fervor.
White blood cells facing a legion
of your searing kisses
that swam through her veins
till she bled them out.
Your lips sang in harmony with hers
as they pressed against her neck and shoulders
moving urgently from place to place.
She lie there beneath the weight of your body
seething with guilt
while you thought only of the girl down the lane
whom had never felt your touch.
Uncharted territory , you thought.
And you left.

--------------
Fuel for my fire
in exchange for warmth
and a good laugh
---------------

I recall those cosmic brownies from my childhood
and the little kool-aid drinks we picked out from the 7-11
with coins from the belly of our couch cushions.
Watching Judge Judy in the afternoons
on grandma's squishy sofa
thinking that 'law' and 'court'
were words you used when your room-mate
didn't pay her rent on time
or when your boyfriend used your credit card
to take out the ***** from down the street.
So we plucked the feet off the daddy-long-legs
and lit ants on fire
when the swimming pool was closed.
Names like
Charles Manson
Ted Bundy
never sparked fear in our bodies
never bred anger or sadness in our hearts.
So we crawled through our tunnels past youth and adolescence
awoke to a world where
men and women
who slaughtered dozens of innocents like cattle
are being served breakfast by the men and women we trust
to keep us safe at night
while we sleep in our soft beds
more vulnerable
than the devils who leave us in fear.

Leave your concious mind
into vivid dreams
fall into the sheets
to watch stars capsize
beneath a distant horizon.
Cling to their brilliance
swing from their beams above the fields
call farewell to the
antagonists
who shoved you too far
Whisper into the vacant spaces
words of reassurance
tell yourself
'it's okay to follow the light'
an escape
beyond the reaches of your lifetime
into the heavy darkness.
let the stars lead you
so readily
beyond.
So forlorn
is the echo
of your final goodbye.

We found the table overcrowded
with empty wine glasses,
smudged with lipstick
and fogged with
mid-sip laughter,

You sat across from me,
staring disinterested
at the bustling table,
a drunken lot of babbling,
over-dressed, under-clothed women.
They were a swarm,
a cluster of buzzing worker bees
enjoying a loose night in a filthy bar.

Like the good lady I am,
I crossed my legs
and watched the purse of your lips
relax
into a grin.
I was ******* down the champagne,
sick with envy for the lipstick
that clung to your pout
and furious at the curtain of caramel hair,
begging my fingers to smooth the knots
and then mess it all up again.

When the table cleared,
and we were left,
calling cabs in the reaches of dawn,
you stole glances at my jewelry
and the jade of my irises.
They absorbed your aura
as you strode clumsily towards the blue taxi,
while I was busy imagining what your name might be
if you thought my dress was pretty,
or if you thought my perfume
would taste like berries
if you kissed it off my neck,
your heels had clacked all the way to the street.
and maybe it was
the curves under your silk purple dress,
or the smell of spilt wine on my black one,
or perhaps a combination of both,
that led to my overactive imagination,
or maybe you put them in my head
when you hesitated at the door of the cab
before beckoning me over
and pulling me in beside you
onto the cold leather
and your lavender fabric
where your perfume permeated the backseat.

It tasted of honey and roses.

wrap your summer fingers
around her wintered soul

I'm getting drunk on lemonade and TV reruns
Watching my cell phone for texts
from people I pretend to like

Staring at the moon
praying one day it might shatter
a thousand shards of stolen light
cutting into my palms.

This has become my life
I sit at home and loathe my day-to-day
but once in a while
I get that little pinch

the twist in my gut that shoves me onward
on towards new ideas
towards new love.

Thats why I am here
Im waiting
Waiting for mystery
a grand adventure

Im waiting for death

I am suddenly aware
of how the blood weighs me down
pooling around the black box
that lays frozen in the darkness
of my chest

My body caves in.
Melting into my own skin
into the slowmotion observed by
restless eyes
tired eyes

and I laugh
hollow
Pretending
I really feel
the laughter in my throat

Am I living?
I am just an illusion, I pray.

Reality answers
and I know
I am still whole
Not a pit beneath the eyes of the rest,
Not a spec of gray in the void,
Not a twisting memory fading
into the ether.

I am still flesh and streaming blood.
Still a moving, flexing creature.
Slowed down by ravenous
thoughts
about pain.

And when the hands that reached for me
with filthy intentions
retreat
I yearn for the filth,
I yearn for the feeling
of want.

I yearn for any feeling.
Any at all.

I was yanked from my childish day dreams,
plunged into a cess-pool of evaluation and judgement
before my 15th birthday.

I have yet to venture outside my own country's borders,
yet to feel unconditional love from eyes unseen,
I can't even cook my own dinner.

They ****** me into the hot seat,
where are you going?
how will you get there?
Where do you see yourself in ten years?
Maybe eating olives on my balcony,
crying over wasted years and broken fingers.
And they tell me
'Study hard, your future depends on it.'
as if my future revolves around
letters on a piece of paper,
teaching me that percentages
and values
define my self-worth.

Subliminal messaging.
Grades before morals.
And now I look at the scale and the digits
line up
three men to be executed
by firing squad.
And I was taught from the age of six
that these numbers represent
my life.

I am numbers
on a scale
on a report card
a g.p.a
a percentage on a test.

Society looks upon me
as a resume.
A collection of fake numbers and symbols
and they decide,
based upon this ****** little game of
calculations,
what life you deserve.

Two smiles and a trigger pull,
momma fell down to her knees.
I got twelve dollars and the gas tanks full.
momma, be at ease.

I took the wind at my back for far too long
with you hanging from my hair,
and now all I know is all but gone,
and the bass in my veins is dragging me back
to that ****** song.

Was there life in those eyes,
could you see through the flies,
in the light of the fire ,
the breath of the liar,
can you tell the naughty
from nice?

Two smiles and a trigger squeeze,
momma is on her knees.
She has a killer son, but a loving one,
her baby is all she sees.
he's headed for hell
with a bullet to sell,
momma, be at ease.

Getting on
through a trying work hour in the night-time rush,
groped by strangers with dark eyes
the color of neglect and whiskey.
Men with knives under their sleeves,
calling you back and back again,
refills for their poison and pretzels for the table,
don't be a *****, darling.
I only want to feel those hands trembling
under mine.
All you ever knew were the bruises and the burns.
Gliding closer and closer to
your face, your hands,
inching towards the skin that gleams, exposed
and invokes the shame you feel from
fetid breath on your neck, these
animals with moldering livers.
but another round for the men in the grease and grime.
Green bottles and a smile that said
'I like the taste of your weakness,
You like the abuse.'

It's back and forth,
not too  fast nor slow,
be the wind, be the calm,
be the strong, be the kind
starve, trim, nip, tuck
a perfect vessel
we pick you apart,
no matter.
and then I'm skinny and sad
and sliced up and over
and the sun rises without me each day
and then

I am quiet.

I have felt
disappointment
in the voice of someone
you love
as they dig up the truth
with their eyes

I have felt
anger in the eyes
of guidance
as they knew
you had been driven
the wrong way

I have felt
concern in the voice
of a bystander
as they watch you
wreck into the barrier
between right
and the opposite
direction

I know love
in the heart of a leader
as they stand you on two feet
kiss you on the forehead
and whisper
'I promise I wont tell.'
and beg
'Be safe.'

I wonder about the eyes and the lips.
If they would have held a reflection of yours.
Maybe the hair was the same texture,
a replica of your youth
which you have lost.
Would you have changed your mind?
If you had seen the fingers and toes,
a perfect count of ten,
and the cream of it's alabaster hands.
Sometimes I wish there were small words
to call my name,
and sometimes I am glad
for your barren womb
for I know of your temptations and weakness
the dust in your bones
as your young body ages beyond
reasonable years.
For the smoke was toxic in your nostrils,
did a bundle of Jefferson's
burn a hole in your pocket?
Only virgins wear white on their wedding day,
was your a dusty beige
clashing with the grey tux
of a criminal?
A man who has a title branded on his
filthy hands, that he touched that girl with,
til death
do you part?
How much justice did you desire for those fingers
after they were clasped around your thick neck?
So I pray your blood keeps pumping and your
brain still buzzes
after every hit,
and I pray the fog clears before your checks don't
and maybe you will extinguish the flames
before your lungs give out
just like your knees did that day.
They ignore your dodgy glances to the side,
your hands, aftershocks of the quaking nerves inside you.
They see past your sudden skeletal visage
and the grey tint in your cheeks
like you have sat on a shelf, sagging and
collecting particles.
But I taste your abuse,
every flavor of it.
As long as you live through your high,
you wont have face your low.
We are thankful everyday
for your blessing
of infertility.

Cradled by the rock floating round the fire,
nursing the infantile species into god-fearing beings.
evolved from millions of years of careful formulation
discovery of galaxies
exploration of the depths of the sea
and all the fury of nature
scaling mountains and glaciers
drinking from the freshwater spring
trickling down summer's neck.
the domestication of the wild
the birth of nations
and the love of a brother.
We have lived and we have died
here on our Earth.
Must we believe in all our passion
and our funeral ceremonies
to pay respect to the dead,
must we accept the idea
that in all our glory as mankind,
our lives became so insignificant
to others and to the solar system beyond our sunny skies
that life means
nothing?
Have we evolved into the most
complex beings
in known existence
and have we loved with the marrow of our bones
and the iron in our blood
only to die
having never stepped beyond the pavement
to peek at the roses beyond
the garden fence?

You'll see me when the tides roll out,
in a heavy downpour
at the heart of the spout.
Catch me in the grave of pine,
trees like tombstones
roots in my spine.
Follow me past the end of the page,
till the ink bleeds out
and you fray with age.
I'll wait beneath an august sky,
my heart will be wet,
yet unthirstably dry.

It meant a greasy burger from the diner on Main st.
A sweaty drive in that noisy ford
with ice cream melting in our laps.
It meant skipping prom
to watch Lord of the Rings on your mother's couch
and never once look at the TV.
It meant reading your favorite book,
and pulling up grass by the roots
to busy our hands
and keep them from wandering places they shouldn't.
Us was the color of the stars when we lay on our backs
examining the milky way
and tracing our names
in constellations.
It meant the arguments at midnight
about the purpose of our lives,
what it meant to be and to belong,
and why the world was no musical,
and no wasteland either.
It meant the only obstacles
were curfew
and your awful cologne.
We were the music on that record
you gave me that first night out
when you took me to the cinema
and when I got home
I spun the vinyl for hours.
We were the color of the rolling hills
in the pastures
when we listened to our favorite songs
and discovered kissing
while we waited for the school bell to ring.
It meant the light always shone
and the rain only fell
when we felt like walking in it.
And it meant that sooner or later
we had to learn what it was like
to be an 'I'
after 'Us'
And we had to learn
all over again
to live without a 'We'

Coincidence of the stars,    
Chemical compounds,
Natural bonds of our tired flesh
Emerging  from mud and earth.

Feral beasts,
Fed by the dirt and brush,
Being who's instinct and will
Conquer the evolved heart.

The blood must flow
And the teeth must gnash.
Heathens in skins, a religion of fire and smoke,
Bones in the dust under a canopy of stars,
Guided by nature and the will of the African plains.

The order of the suns and moons,
Woven from the fibers of
our very tissue and DNA.

Oceanic creatures and woolly ape
Bred their kin,
Harvested knowledge from the
Seed of grass, growing wild though the hills.

To live and to fall
Beneath the crust of the earth
And feed the flowers,
To grow a garden from moldering flesh,
And sleep in darkness,
Bodies akin to the soil
Given only to ground.

A fragile
and calloused concoction.
Coincidence of the stars,
Creation of the cosmos.

She spun a scarf to hide her shamed head
from a silken thread of equivocations
that led her lovers into walls.
She ate from a spoon of clay and earth,
saturated by her tongue
mud in the depths of her bleeding throat
and the towns people said
'May her mendacity lead her into hell's bastille,
may her sins bury her before the breath leaves her lungs.'
and she was silent.
While her judgment day had arrived
and she marched on quietly towards the grave
of the rogue,
I felt her eyes catch mine in the crowd
and I tasted the humanity,
I smelled the anguish.
Sentenced to death by the thirsty fingers
of an un-dead society,
feeding on the remainders of true, unyielding life.
She walked on towards the land of slumber,
a conscious antithesis
of justice.

You should know that I complain.
A lot.
About the heat and the snow
and the ******* that cut me off on my way to the store.
I will complain. And whine.
Because no one ever listened before.

You should know that I might shy away from your fingers.
My self esteem has been smothered beyond resurrection
and I'll hide my face in the sunlight
and cower, blushing and shamed
when your hands show even the slightest hint of lust.

I hope you understand
that I will smile.
I will smile about the trees and the wind
and comment on the way tendrils of mist
wind through the valley
or how the colors of the pasture
are so vibrant in April.
And I will smile and sing to the windows.
You will listen, I hope.

You should know that sometimes,
when we creep along the highway in the evening
and a song comes on, dripping with sentiment
in the way the sun sets behind the mountains,
I will want you to be silent.
Hushed and still as the horizon.
I will need the radio up, the voices off,
I will need your fingers in mine.

I want you to know that I crave a listener.
An understand-er.
A know-er and do-er.
A lover.
I need silence and peace
and long drives into the dark.
I need whispers and songs
and summer breezes in the bedroom.
I need and want and lust and whine.


I'm selfish and sad
and I know you'll understand someday.
even if it takes a life-time.

A content life is looked down upon
much akin to how
a crow looks upon the ways of the moth.
'Why spend your life
chasing what eludes you
only to persih by it's hands in the end?'
asks the crow.

'It's the brightest light I have ever looked upon,
therefore the best,
and if I find myself beside the light
I shall be happy.'
retorts the moth,
it's eyes aglow.

The crow looks on at the
vain attempts of a common insect,
lusting after the blinding hand of death,
glittering, buzzing
above their heads.

'Why don't you join me, Crow?
We can chase this light together,
maybe you will find it's glory as well.'

The crow peers curiously at the moth,
addled by the enthusiasm
of chasing such an obvious,
insatiable pleasure.

'I prefer to fly.
I can see all the lights in the world
from above.'
He gestures to the window.
'I have all the fruits of the earth
spread before me.
Mine for the taking
at my leisure.'

But the moth never looked away
from the enticing, electrical bulb.
It buzzed and flew
and smacked against the hot glass.
With one final effort to enter the light,
it popped and found itself on the earthen ground,
lost in a graveyard of conformity.

The crow shivered at the sight
of life wasted on material things
and gaudy glory.
He spread out his wings
and ventured into the evening air
to watch the sun sink behind fushia hills.

Woman, with the six string in your lap,
honey,
make the mountain sing.
Lover, in the sweaty satin sheets,
baby,
show me the good the night does bring.
You stained my skin with delicate song
the caress of your melody urges me on.

In the light of the streetlamps
I looked upon you
as a sailor looks over the sea.
I watched the fire in your eyes
flicker and burn.
It called me back to
memories of waking up
on your couch,
the smell of syrup and rain
on a Sunday afternoon.
Suddenly I feel
your silk sheets sliding
off of my cool skin in the summer time,
hours spent enveloped
in the folds of your body,
tangled in your hair,
a soft auburn forest .
I felt the lure of your scent
as I fell at your feet
pledging allegiance of my sable heart
unto this
goddess
before my filthy hands.
Crumpled in a heap before you,
you stepped over my weeping soul
and into sturdy arms.
Arms that never dreamt of your skin,
never went sleepless over
the quiver of your lip.
Arms that never felt weak and worthless
in your absence.
Not how mine did.
Those arms are strong
they will strangle the warmth
from your bones,
leave you shivering in the road
where I shall find you by the light of the streetlamps
only recognizable by the dying fire in your eyes.
I see your darkness now.
Your miserable wallowing worst
I pray this time
you shall see
my light.

I can taste the huckleberries ripe on the branches
stolen from the fairy garden in the early summer
when the ravens weren't looking.

I stole a lot of things as a child.
I stole the UV rays from the sun,
tanning my alabaster arms
and freckling my shoulders.

I stole winks from boys in my third grade classroom
while the teacher had her back turned.
And I might have sold those winks
to other boys
for an extra juice at lunch.

Maybe I committed petty theft as a young lady,
taking the air from someones lungs,
******* in their light-bulbs and
blowing a fuse.

I'm a thief,
taking the light from their eyes
and the bullets from their guns,
I stole smiles
and never gave them back.

Can
     I sleep beneath the willows in the garden
     In the shade of weeping eaves
You
     Planted deep in soft mulch
     above the hallowed canary grave?
Breathe
     Out  the eerie recollections of
     a marrow chilling orchestra
In
     the confines of
     the white wicker cage.
Song
     I cannot hear
     but I taste in the sap of the willow
As
     it sobs softly
    on my heavy shoulders.
You
    spread a quilt out on the grass
    and whispered to the weeping branches
"Do
     you hear the canary  choir
     ringing through your roots?"
Oxygen
    expired from my lungs
    and I wailed a yellow-bird song.

I'm circling the foyer and kicking up dust
I don't feel sound
I don't hear solitude
Stop drinking
Stop wasting moments on thoughts on never drawing conclusions
I'm corrosive
When will you finally settle down?  be still and
Wait
No
Who is speaking?
I'm fumbling with the light and Slilping out the door
Is it morning yet?
Keep drinking and I'll let you go
Not missed
A dust cloud follows and
You're wasting no more time
Running from that crooked shadow you carry on behind.

I want
But that is greedy

I need
But that is vain

I love
But that is filthy

So I settle

And I am met by an old friend
Disappointment

and his cousin

Mediocrity

And I am unhappy
And they call me names

Like Humble
and Kind
and
a good ******* Samaritan

Because Black is the new blue.
and happiness is the new sin.
and life is the new death.

And you can't let your self live
because life is full of sin.

"And there is no escape but detachment,"

Lock the doors,
leave on the light.
Kiss the children,
'Nighty night'

Lie in the sheets,
Don't fall asleep.
Cometh the Devil,
thou soul to reap.

Your sable heart
has long been dead
for the Devil dwells
inside your head.