Bones deflected the actions.
Dreams - wait nightmares - no, dreams. Haunt me.
All said, falling down the sky in waves.
Your stories, his or whomever, waving but looking the other way.
Another he turns to shadow-I, heavier than a child, and is diligent. Behaves.
What is the standard for being enough? Still Another he may know.
If nothing else, where can someone reach in?
Instead of flashes of being.
How do I notice I'm alive? - scrape myself away from my glinting rigid body.
Trees grow while I'm in overdrive - subhuman.
Pressed ideas into their heads - that's there - I be it.
"You're not here to re-re-re-replicate."
Fixed states
That bear of a thought
Nestled in the curve of my nose and in between his shredded palms.
Eighteen, newly, and already dead in between breaths.




http://suchpoeticthoughts.blogspot.com/2013/11/another-language.html