dimly lit room                                 ;  I hear a cloud pass by;           tip toe
down the planks,  drip.


Stirring in some salt -         3 hours on simmer, touching  a blank canvas,
seeing through a haze after the fog
has rolled away.

You ask '' for whom?''      you're enshrouded by a black husk, contorted like a cashier face.

plugged into a jet-stream, forward moving, forward thinking,
backward  living, one of a billion concurrent movies projecting  an old worn out film.

I walk around a while.


I go walking in the woods and crunch the leaves. Cars pass by and I walk past.  A broken-shed, with broken windows, but no life.

no liveliness in this walk. No chirping, or buzzing,  just some hammering in the distance.

I sit down and pick up a stone. A crystal.   It gives me a faint-energy.   I  rub off the moss,
  and I toss it into the
mist .  Nothing in my head. I  don't want to be here anymore