Outlinnes become more and more tepid
a sense of nothingness crowds these
...and crowds these elegantly.
Someday these outlines would be writing myths
and would expect me to kneel down.
The language of the myths I don't understand
for, I hail from the land people are fed on
muddling myths.
The unease rustles.
The glimpses collude.
Dullness revels in veils of reverence.
and I look forward to meeting the true story
amid longings for languid hopes and lingering
discourses.