Around Myself,
It made a little Room,
I caught myself, there,
Within with Harp and Loom.
Yes, I'm Self caught, to do
The thing I Must, but self
Fortressed, by my Will,
Work I've done, Trust.
Where one find one's Self,
Wrong-found, through toil,
Futile conditions, Creation--
Burts from exactly this Soil.
Now is to the Telling, This
Tale a Rocket, to Infinitude,
Rhizome, mycelium, Project,
Starlight. We Make ourselves,
Live. Feat of Imagination.
Dust is the only Other. And
Already Guaranteed, Purpose,
Experience Faithfully Recycled.
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