The weedy wanderer searches for his tricks:
They hide among the flowerbeds
And in behind the gutters
Cleaning out the filth
Of the lucky master's overwhelming testimonies
Testimonies of love and hate:
They explore the times people were participating,
Clinging to the tufts of an imaginary carpet man,
Exploring in sondor-ous glee and enthusiasm.

There are oceans in this room, swelling,
They fill me up and soak me;
I'm still dry
Yet I am drowned in these waves of apathy.

Screams and whispers echo my body
With cries and laughter,
Fill this empty room

Swivel sideways,
A new perspective,
All turned on its head
All diagonal tribute
Spinning, cycling through
I. can. not. grasp. anything.
Flatten my palm.
Let it go.

A dandelion clock floating on the wind
Swirling and dancing
In spite of stifling cross breezes
Muttering discordant harmonies
Rhyming melodies, unfinished senta...

The night fuzzes now
Soft
Comforting
Full of warmth
Dribbling from the mouth of hope
Who will speak to me in the darkness?
Or will the light speak to me?