Gluons abound in the eyes
with which you read this

Hanging on for dear life
clobbered by a photon
of verse

Wishing they were
phonons

Their grip is resolute
reinventive
of itself

Its wail a mostly wretched
song of I'm scared

of separation

The Island of Misfit
strings
entangles me

Grips are lost
time is misled
Thursday missing

Again

Inky bliss
surrounded me
drew out

the Elmer's

And I am unstuck
in time
and really
really
fine