Sullen color in the cortex suffocates. My organs are your secret destination. I can’t establish which part of me is proof. I measure the curling road visibly. Seven springs in a row, you would find me at numerous parks, the library, in limbo. I disappeared, came back, but not always from the grave or a windy dream. Both American coasts have seen my soul sit naked twice. There’s an accrual of identity, something rearranges schemes that make me nervous: my envy, my need for too much comfort in dark heat. I was made out of two conventional masses making temporary space. I recreated deceit. The sticks we drew were cousins, birds & stars. Simple & essential. What burns is a dialogue with stiff voices & bones. I am losing my being, a lost sock like a leaf, I was known. I am correcting myself for tomorrow’s collision. I am closing my eyes with the lights on & it feels wrong. I have something to tell you. I sleep. I slept on you. I exaggerated sympathy.