the.

a string hangs down,under my palm [i like it there]
coming down from the inside of my long-sleeve shirt
i caught a snag on a baby sidewalk tree riding my bike here with my eyes closed
arms stretched out to carry the balance of no hands
a year for re newness of my body
sometimes with ochre or a bit of sienna
for all the manual devices that play a part in the natural movement of my sanity
there is a sense of soft moving grace
under the saving energy of a door delivered green lightbulb
the air is a ton of nondescript beatings that shake the line that already quivers in the middle ground of loving
there are questions
only bother with them
allow yourself the feeling of cold air on closed eyelids
i can make rain