I’m nowhere you can’t be or haven’t been.
The settings and scenes don’t change much.
You just keep getting pestered by the things that show the light.
Like a friendly, flirting flick on the ear, the bothersome lad suggests you look closer in the most playful of ways.
An awkwardly oversized hawk stumbles drunkenly from a nursery manufactured tree.
The craters of the moon say circle, circle, circle as if that’s all you’ve ever been doing.
The pattern is sometimes a violin, sometimes the leaf blower, sometimes the random whoosh of crows wings.
Attention to the smallness.
There’s a conversation that’s not in words.
You do it, but then the educated part of your self unravels it with mis-education, and you’re a silly human again.
An outcast among the natural animals, you convince yourself there’s something going on that’s not.
You boast at your cleverness, setting goals in a two-personality dialogue.
A headmaster buying cheap trophies and handing them over to the self.
Progress toward nowhere.