Most days it is felt in the bones
Sometimes it moves to my
Soap, or my
Belt, or my
Lighter, I burn it into
****** circles in whatever page I scar
I feel it in my hands when it
Flows in peace, sweet release
I never feel it in my guitar, I thank

A harmless exoskelocreeper darts along the
Wall and the sick pit of belly says ******!
But things have been so
Transparent of late I would hate to
Move and sad statue watches crawling, powerless

These stones we lug, do they make us strong?
My back sores with
More pain than progress

I feel it when they speak
The stinking breath of some
Who have never looked up
Or did and got dizzy frailneck

I feel it in the not now

I feel it in the dreams
Where waking comes after death

I feel it in the mornings
Planting palmonn wall to balance liquid lover
I swear, I went right
Through it like
I wasn’t even
There
Becoming less of something lately
Or, more of a slim
Quantum chance (?)

It is like we walk among the
Subterrain thinking we are
Open air, I can hear the
Footprints above, everywhere
And the true sky beyond imagination
I can feel it
When they haven’t
Flown
We reach and
Reach like emerging
Gravewalkers, desperate
For something
Sun on our hands, run them through
The breeze and think we’re free

When it rains, blind grasp
Turns out not the soothsayer
We question the water no origin exposed

I feel it in the mirror
And in groups
I feel it in the hairs on the back of my neck
I feel it in everything
My beautiful virus

Something
Is not right