hiding inside a locked gun cabinet
was the voice I hear
when I talk to myself
I could sip a writer's heart
his aromatic words pouring
corkscrew lies next to knives
keys, pens and dollar bills
guardless bold timid steps.

contact.

my breathing increases
to catch up with my heart
the way of not aloneness
in soulspeak
walking me home  
aurora borealis
or is it a normal human being.