on my thirteenth etched perpetual circle path, i've opened ears to the humming air melody of sitting in the same displaced solvent that some distant relative, who dropped me where i sit, i sat. he stopped for a moment, dwelling on my thousand year descendant bloody birth, yeah. entering a niche, like the normal setting notch on my world's brightness knob. i click to a halt, where i'm sure he stopped thinking of me sharing the space, so many circles later, in the slighting time of the same shape shifting. hes sits in the stall long after he has finished shitting, yeah stall with the rust, piss stains, graffiti says "winter or maybe another way"
