traversal of the last days on the continent,
back and forth out of wholesome backdrop and hearty laughter,
the ground slides backwards from under foot
as the perfect oceanic recedes with her own waves
into the pinprick of light that is this distance.
the day after easter is for my resurrection,
staying sleeping,
staying dead for at least one more day.
i have been married, and too a conjoined twin to a bottle
we were separated at birth,
but the pull was always still there.
now back to the familiar,
which has somehow become alien in my absence.
some how stretching myself into the world
of fathers and mothers and the apple pie of the others
has left me
shuddering,
soaked
and frozen
in the arctic circle of my mind,
which is where i awake, i stand, i shake, i fall.
home, sweet home.