wither goest he? traveling, traversing, rehearsing the good doctor lingers in the doorway out sometimes forgotton, but always, ever, perpetually omnipresent dictations and suggestions, hunches corrupting helping one last time to cauterize, sterilize cutting off the umbilical cord to humanity nothing to slow it down, nothing to hinder, nothing to feel cilia burned, silly-a me to allow it is it a neccesary burden. a beast with a broken back still slogging, blindly, towards an imaginary finish line hoping there is only darkness there. rest. peace he misses his shell. the whole world is asbestos this is his hell. the soothing water sputters the flames to smoke and miles away, tonto points and deciphers. "*******" is what it says, soaring eagle the white man is so trivial primitive in his circular command center, melting legos to heat his hearth hiring ****** to eat his heart a trapper keeper. a pointed rose. a poisoned tip. a mental rip. a freudian slip this place has no ***. I mean.. class. class is what i meant.****** surroundings never touch the surface of my skin and quantum physicists only complicate this perspective. **** your logic! and **** mine worse.. why must everything be rehearesed? this is a curse. a verse of a song I sing with a gun to my head