this too shall pass, she said to me. and it has.
over and through me with the strength of a punch, indifferent and faceless like the force of gravitation. comme la terre, qui tourne pour personne

there goes december on swift feet and i am diminishing with each step, curling myself on top of me like a drunken ouroboros

and i am lost. this is the desert stirring, staring back

i am drying up like a stream among the rocks. my throat closes up, disquietly, and i say nothing.

you come to me bearing nothing, you all come and pull my hand and bide me look! and do! and move! and what can i, monstrous tree-winged-clawed creature, do?

allow me a moment of having a moment, por favor

now teetering on the edge of physical bereavement, scratching a living from bare concrete, dangling perilously close to starvation; so free that you, great and envious monster, nearly want the plotted out path and all of the arrows, and to be told where to go, to have things added to you now that you've forgotten how to add to yourself

of course, and all the other things that you want, great envious monster that thou art

little beast in the cradle, scratching at the windowpane.
sneering at the bright teeth of morning
resenting the roar of the days tumbling over one another

opening its mouth, starting and stopping
and i have cast fire upon the world, it wanted to say, and look, i am guarding it until it blazes