come_to_this knot meat and me, unencumbered and alone. you walk in the park at night and you hope for oblivion or at least feel you're doing you're half, passively seeking the different the change. come to me unencumbered and alone and recognize only that which is strange in me the motions you couldn't imagine of my hands. suddenly analogies slide away and what was, wasn't. because these hands often grip, though many think they fidget at my sides. and these hands often fidget at my sides, though many think they often grip. if you could see me as I dream, would there be any room for you, or me even would there ever be an awakening? 040915 what's it to you? who go blather from