10-12-3am-06

in the frightening everywhere here,

the caustic atmosphere--acidic threats to my scales

the violent mundane-- septic trampeeds of clockwork people

i avoid, i won't keep up with them, i won't leave this behind--

this-- serpent rise of promise, heavy cloud, distant shape at sea.

this is what makes my movement something i can bear.

i can't go where this current doesn't.

I am sorry. I am sorry that I am not readable right now.

I am sorry that I don't appease the company at dinner

with commonly accepted answers and fashionable humor.

I wish that I could so that I wouldn't have to work so hard.