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Breath Breathing
I don't know what I'm doing.
I'm trying to stay honest,
or something unassuming.
When I spoke you only spoke
again
and when I froze
you'd only cock
your head.
I'm only able to be again
when I'm filled with ambient
and catatonic, cresting waves
that serve to carry
and to feed.
I'd bathe in static
and be sure
that my malign
could still be cured
with any hapless remedy
dealt to me by the pharmacy
upon the word of my physician
who's name is just escaping me.
He's kind enough, but
makes me late
with all his paper magistrate.
But to him I
owe debt of gratis,
for without these I'm sure to panic
and lose my wallet and my keys,
while every breath inside me breathes.
