Settled beyond the barrier,

Body bruised as the score…

It will arrive on its own…

It feels like waking up in the night,

Yearning for rest…

At the brink of consciousness,

I watch myself from above and within,

Longing to escape the subtle…

Every day in Wyoming you will find a field of sagebrush,

It stretches beyond…

My mind consumed,

Terribly and wonderfully busy,

Overtaken…

A taste of joy,

As absurdity invites…

Grief,

A human condition…

What defines the mire?

If nothing enters, does…

A dark figure hovers,

Haunting and juddering,

Like a silloute…