dry rim low jig

the more thinks: stay
  the more, they
 stay


 the same dream
comes doomsday
  the vice

   in a hotelroom
with a park pad
lock of hair

  i am trying hard
the story
the world

    but a friend
sings: attune
 and i remember


  in the morning
the song that
my mutter

thinks


every thing
things
  realising

that what
eye think
"ears" written
    on

the outside of
everyone's
         eyes

seeing together
everything

        except
            me