words from page 73 of the nearest book
dropping my mood from the indigo gloom to a rosier room
I, once incensed, now unfist the muscle of my mind and hesitantly find
a faint pulse line, a turquoise vein, dropping inspiration into stagnant pain
on the verge of a glow, from a well a creature waves, and I know
the face at the bottom looking up at my own is my own,and
I am the well, and I am the fine, and this face of mine is the questioning kind.
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