If the folds of space
are as complicated
as my sheet and blanket
entanglement

wherein I am kicking
desperate for coolness
or pulling for
its opposite

bunched
when I need
unbunched
scrunching

Then it makes sense
the red shirt guy
always getting it
in scene one

Later comes
the remake
Folds hiding out
until dark

partners
in the cottony cool
slipping between
so many things

flow crackling
delight
and they have me
made unmade


Copyright@2019 Dennis Willis