In the pot of the hole          

intellectually exploited

moving along the lines

trenching out detritus

to stay alive

 

tangential highways

on my right or left

set by plots against

or distinct wishful

plans dug so deeply

I fly away like that

 

with eight hours here

four plus three plus one

and then the other one

 

spring – summer promises

rest – so much more that

it outbursts confined tests

 

physically I am one

the mirror so says

when thousands are sucked

others come back – inter-

changed under continuous

rusted unrest_

 

I had breakfast & dinner yesterday

today I’ll have lunch in the afternoon

time’s been made personal – key

to the floating alive – sail in the ocean.