days blur together uncomfortably,
without some sense of stable living,
when there is nothing to fall back on, no place to hold on.
some part of this is meaningful,
but this is hard to discern in shadows, counter-shadows;
in all this open space and silence between heavier moments;
it is hard to see in the night, though not for lack of effort;
maybe best to be written down, forgotten, burned, lost, whatever.
my feet have traced and re-traced the same ground,
finding that things are created to be destroyed,
mentioned to be ignored,
that all is stable before the riot,
that we are always capable of psychic escape, if not of physical flight.

and you've prepared me well,
i take every shot personally, yet outwardly ignore them so well
that nothing seems to get through.
so, lest you forget and try again, i will see you when i see you,
friend.