It's measurement is metaphysical; it rings of vibrations too deep to hear.My moons are many, their light permits days, which in turn are nights.
I haven't felt hungry for some time, instead I feel weak.
A weakness so familiar it must be deja vu.
Weakness, and its maddening improbable humor!
A large percentage of me has not cleansed itself of the filth it's lived in for too long.
I only want to learn about things which interest me. No longer do I feel the desires to swim with the sharks.
I'm missing pieces all over;
a woman who can knot, I should be able to hold it together.
These manic states frighten me less and less. They come to me like an old yellow school bus, and I greet them with childhood memories.
There I was, once- a child. The distance between me & me there is far beyond truly grasping.
And so I lie here, another night gone by, another wall studied too long.
Now when he speaks to me, for he thinks I should learn his interests, I will rather remember this wall and the yellow school bus,
yet I will be too weak to tell him how little his interests feed me.
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