i guess, about me,
it’s, i’ve got one phase
and that’s remote-viewing
on your screen,
like, how you tell
what made you,
and what it takes to
tell me.
i float over cassipilo,
streaking naked
on crusty rocks.
and, i learn what
hurts or loved,
like i learned
to read.
read you? i mean
be, your motion,
under the whisper,
surging crush
of hush-now
volcanos…
of bitter blossoms
stinging up into the stratosphere…
like forgotten star dots,
like egos in winter.
poetryandpoet 