2003-08-26 - 5:01 p.m.
As a vague form of something I know,
So does the dream come.
In some way it is a part of me
it knows
better than I do
But I miss
I don't see me the way I do,
And forget.
Such is the reason for all of this
Of things I know but that
I am not aware of
Of things I try but that
wrap me at the deepest
Of things I turn but that
Squash me like an insect.
And forget.
Such is the reason for all of this.
