As a hermit crab does she dwell
Safe within a borrowed shell
Here she lives in fear
Of the outside world
She feels so near

She exists here all alone
Only home she's ever known
Fearing what she'll find
Danger lies ahead
Safety left behind

No longer confined, free at last
All her doubts now in the past
Free now to explore
All the places
She feared before

To-night is dark, so
  step lightly and carry
  a large lamp into
  the howling woods

Wisdom says run, run
  to dark caves and
  harrowing silences
  mirror the bottomless

The abyss, gazing
  headlong into itself,
  recoils in horror,
  shudders dis-eased

And only lamp-light,
  courage flick'ring
  in oppressive depth
  persists, defiant

A stain on un-becoming
  a trampler of stars
  peddler of filth
  who knows all the answers.

I think too much about this Lego House
And that the life I am leading is causing me the strife I deal with today
I feel too much, take everything in and store it,
Never let it surface
I hate conflict and fighting but it's taking over the vacant parts of me
And I am boiling over because of petty things
I feel it all, these houses and these walls
I want to slam this door shut
Watch the timber snap
The trap door to freedom
But I can't find an exit
Bursting to find an out
I am locked in these cages of 1556

We think it's in the protection:
above, the vast canopy called Sky;
then we want freedom
when pervasive is intrusive
and seek shelter

Searching, we expend lives. Rain
finds a way in, we run seeking new.

We think this is unique,
then neither vast not endless,
but blobs floating in space:
it is in the beauty of illusion; then
disbelieve, hopping bruised on.

Neither in protection nor in freedom
nor in anything other;

Under the canopy again,
up on a hill, until
buried deep somewhere in us,
we see, it was there, all along,
and we grow up.

Let the film end before intermission
characters be underdeveloped
let the plot lie open like cut veins

and let the the background score
resonate in the hall at its shrill note

It's a broken piece of the heart
cracked into two:
two faces reside here now
on either sides of the chasm.

Make whatever you wish out of it
Sweet or bitter end,
tragedy, comedy or farce
or thriller or horror,
write your own story, make it up.

take any road up the hill
to eternity beyond.

She wakes up at 4pm
leaves the house
only at sunset

she talks
in feline nothings
to her cat

& reads
Rousseau
in the afternoons

10 years ago
the last time
she saw her friend

not her fault,
the distance
of course


sometimes
she goes to the pub
where she doesn't

know anyone
& drinks
half a guinness

comes home
drunk on the night
& it's thousand stars

The hermit and his hand
Sticky fingers and solitude
kama sutra of the fingers