The shadow
Of my hand on the paper
Doesn't match that "concept of identity"
You were talking about the other night
When we tried to catch metaphors
In the bipolar tree
After a nap or two
I find my hair, long and knotty
Like roots in the air bridging the globe
My desire for 'dahoam'
While you are quoting Lord Byron
In the bipolar treeI find my hair, long and knotty
Like roots in the air bridging the globe
My desire for 'dahoam'
While you are quoting Lord Byron
The kettle sings
The rockingchair swings
We constantly listen
To the language of things
& we keep bying shoes
For a baby that doesn't yet walk