A stiff wooden chair,
in a hot shower.
Porous, and fragrant.

Phone conversations
like elongated
ovals. "I have a

profound lack of pride
in my Self." Dreams no
bigger than the palm

of my hand, holding
entire landscapes.
Sumptuous words as

ideas from the mouth
of purposeful in-

give my moist clouds
a form to become.
The architects of

Apollo shuffle
beyond stark borders.
An empty field; hills

at a distance in
front of me, mountains
clawing at my back.

An: Five.