Monday, November 24, 2014

you have the sorrow
it is your gift
get over it

get a real-sick

climb over that barbed wire
unless

of course
you are able only
to inhale the air

from your reality.
can you not trust we
mean well?

must i, i say?

threat. simple. stay back

human, i
hide

yes my fur is warm
in it, i somnambulant

my morning song i do send
i do i do

a window a little opened.