The stiffness of morning fades.
The depths of thought do not match,
and neither do some physical headings.
The manicured world that surrounds has somewhat settled.
Given to wanderlust:
this implacable man
is a pheromonic suitor of that world.
The cataclysm is everything trending;
The word itself.
Better we learn to live like monks
than to forget,
or to be insignificant.
Not warping and transmogrifying!
Where is there a division?
one might ask.
With great internal patience,
I hope for us to be alive.