Running parallel to my veins,

cosmically, and coincidentally adjacent to that broken bone,

perpendicular to the room down the hall,

standing on the outside, from the outside.

the typography,; the topography

all of its a mess,

directionless and loose,

When I trip over the carpet trying to get there , right out of the gate.

to find out where that howling is coming from,

when we trip over the carpet just trying to get there,

to get somewhere,

to get anywhere,

to just get past the gate.

Still trying to figure out where that howling is coming from,

This lack of feeling before we plummet into that beige void,

a spirited campaign for a re-run if there ever was one,

one that brought us to tears,

if there ever was one.