In a juicy veil of unconsciousness I dreamt that I would have
to start writing something down and should not rest until the
forever amen took me to deeper vaults of reasoning where things
would no longer lie shivering in indifferent middle distance
a goosey forearm away. On that day answers would press and insist
and re-ravel as they sloped from their mould. And of the schemas
I have flinted from this rock of pages, well they are as slight
and brittle as those worried from a rock face by a fruitblack ant.
Bits of memory that I want to restitch before they fray.
Indiscipline carved in sapless bark.