I am a stranger to myself I am told.
This other steam of a spirit rushes through my fingers
unravelling a blank page of an Ego, I, you, them, there who what finds hears thinks perceives
verbs moving the e-motion of the person-leaves withering, angel-water rushes down my being.
the abstractness must must be illustrated with an example: can you see the angel-water?
What if these forms of being that you are reading appeared in my writing?
Another question inserted here would be a note of poetics to pull the veil of anaesthesia
over my unconscious etiquette to communicate with the trembling of wander.
In daring I am alone, although some stand by this sentence in faith.
In leaping I am alone, while repetition explodes my fear.
A question is missing, here.
