Foliaceous experimentations,
I make lime by burning shells.
Late night awareness,
all thoughts, all sense.
Poetic energies jam prose signals,
Can't write, can't paint, can't sleep.
No good for anything right now.
I hope the stove doesn't burn out.
Or I'll wake icy cold in my bed.
Shiver, clap, count every breath.
Victory,
not to have to sleep like an animal,
curled up in snow.
Heat liberates time, for the arts.
