Hot-blooded, not frantic
And when you say,
“You are intense, all gas, no brakes,”
I feel safe to be hot-blooded.
For the second moon is discoverable,
And the path to the other side of the Styx is discernible.
If the natural speed of my being made me a traveler,
I would hope that one day
I would look—with sizzling, doomed eyes—at the face of my homeland,
Crying in gaiety for falling asleep
On the lap of the world: “settlement.”

Never was I happy being everywhere,
Nor was I while being somewhere.
All paradoxical,
Ironical—
Story.