drivulets stork daddy everything outside of me is drowned to the wet and dull aliveness of an opened refrigerator door, an erasing overriding noise. and yet i am sharpened by each affronting cold. a panicked rivulet shirks down a leaf, bending the stance of the leaf and i imagine the tree ever slightly a small puddle ripples in the wind. a streetlight is a source of reflections which blink across it. and i would never know the streetlight was there if i concentrated solely on the puddle and watched as it sent stars across the universe, like a fourth of july sparkler. i breath out, and at the most my breaths approximate the endless journey of those little lights, but i am still here. after a while i am tired of looking at it. it is too small to be a part of me. it is so small and in flux that in its constant smallness it is infinetly larger than me. it covers a distance, infinitely smaller and larger than mine. i realize then, i am surrounded. i am drowning in a world of rivulets which exist at a range and scope that i am at tension with, that i feel calling me, that i feel clumsy in, too cement to dive into. 050119 ... Doar . 050920 what's it to you? who go blather from