and how fares
myself? in between
the ticking tocks?

the clinking,
inched signs of riots
numbered on clocks?

well,

i thought
You

would
never ask

i spend most of my moments
building shacks

peeling boards out from trees

same parts,
for a different body

animals and i, all crawling
inside, on all fours

the foxes pace, while i wait
out the storm

from my window frame
a west wind whispered warm

the clouds,
admitted the forms change
but that the vaporous nature of it, stays

between my fingers
combing the tangled apparitions free

begging ghosts and gods
for this hollow solitude

in the distance the cities
dismal lights brood

the night is overlooked
and still refused

the stars left holes in their place
that fill in blue when i wake

a dreaming question,
in sunlight, evaporates,

suffused:

is this house a home
or simply
an altered state

reused?