i can’t smell in here
you’d think i could taste the sea
the way gulps of it come down
i’d light a fire if i had sticks
but they’d come through the walls
take my sticks and brand me
my own sticks
of, course, in spiritual truth
no stick belongs to me
or to any one person
so, i wonder, scratching my head
if something cannot be mine
how can i inherit it
part of me doesn’t understand
and in her
i feel closer to that part of me
that part that finds comfort
in stillness masquerading as peace
this part of me
has yet to experience peace
she won’t let go
and i’m not sure what to do
i’ve only ever asked another to fight my fights for me
when i’m beyond terrified
i guess the pinball metaphor has to go
it’s more like being the soccer ball on a game table
do you hear me knocking
i’m in the next room
tendrilwise 