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purposefully dispossessed thoughts
poured into thin conifer needle capsules, pungent and bright
plucked from the ether to make a nesting crown
to bring it home
to make a home
shrinking diadem to
earth down repurposed
a room sized roost
a big enough bed to lay in
but not to escape the noise
slow to expand
sped up to contract
when left in remiss
daggers at the temples
a speed
a vigilance
a history chasing a moment or memory
stop spacing out
trust the process
pluck the needles from the ether to
forge a fragile knife
that cuts but breaks
and
where is my agency
where is i am
where am i
a bleeding temple
drawing purpose
lying in my own bed
what do i want of these words
what good do they do in my head
what do i tell you about them
without removing myself
an assembly of needles is only a bed
if you see the body sleeping in it
a knife is only a weapon
if you see the wielder strike
an image
a conjuring
a needle
how do i change the meaning
or the picture
or the process
how do i leave the room without knowing
what i’ll come back to

trying to summon a waking dream
is not the same as sleeping in one
how do i picture a body in the future
a new place