Pining for the nines and I, [am] hungry with the energy of
hundreds I exceed, blame and unconventional for nothing
less than searing and surprisingly, abide – by norm and
this professional endeavour bolted through, bid aborted
by the fault of “not inside me,” nor beside; in nonsensical
approach to feeling something pure refine its tastes to me,
finding pleasure to the setting of profanity, endearing –
paradox by paralysing thoughts to what they mean,
and letting anything impossible deliver me from
really getting into tasks at hand;
parasensible to custom and about as hard to handle
as the full I tend to pour, as professing to fastidious it
also knows I’m forced to realise – care essential to
my further as without them I am neither myself or,
the man ascribed; the one they seek.
ysomerkstave 