swarms bloat
buckets of unliving
pour through
nothing vibrates
or is lost
maybe everything real
or maybe nothing really exists in it
or maybe there is nothing clear
and matter is only its quotient
the mass of
what life really gets lost in
as hoping over a stick flatlines
love sticks to its looming loss
the existing
flossed cocoon
later identified as water in
my subconscious
tandem blessings suffer
some curiosity billows
and one day submits
and again rises
when its shallow