I was in the sky, I took measurements

Loathsome to steal from myself—twice, and I am clubbed, till thrice, I let out.

(and then ratnest—skittering endless places.)

I am best when staring into a chair, and think it honeycomb and bee sting.

Still, these flashes of a great dog, before my world spinning upon.

I am borrowing, and must do to its time.

Then I think of the deep midnight of the ocean, and lightning that plays across the sky.

(but I feel a toothache, and wrenching eyes, and postcards, and death, and the sunlight/bruised elbows/world.)

I can only think it the tide without a moon inside my mind.

I am awed upon a vast empress.

I have no path of use.