nothing is made for eyes
it seems trees are aimless clouds
wintry indifferent soldiers
looking for a jesus they have only heard of
air is closemouthed a stationary indication of on and on
ants hide red armies while leaves fuss into heaps
small flustered puzzle pieces that are lost now within themselves
chasing chasing searching for what
heat holds still
cold callous sun dulled by this unreasonable world
and yet and yet
here i am defective but catching
what i need to carry
less or more
seasofme110621
