Socked feet
on carpeted floor;
comfortably curved back.
The hum and crackle of
expanding copper,
as heated water
warms the nativity
of today's time and space.
I am here.
Where is Memphis?
How much of Maslow's
tower is systemically
sculpted of blood and cracked bone?
I am here:
with waking seagulls,
where an actualising butterfly
easily waves a left wing
into a thimble-sized breeze.
I am here;
Tyre is there.
Hurricanes of fists and batons.
