dont move to upset leviathan dont let its hymns and curls betrothe you dont wake up crying in the northern light as if to say “aye! but dreams of yore shall once again enclose me as if golden waters all around had risen let off guard as both lobes slept unlike a formation of ducks with one eue open end to end” dont fear neptune as he strikes his sword gainst the sea sending waves from shore to shore which swallow sand which pick up sand and move it which swallow sand then bringing back to the deeper parts tread slowly out to sea walk slowly with the tips of toes against the sand a shell! a shell between the toes! a field! a field we walk on. i am letting myself dream of kissing men. but those defended would say that a dream is where a man can fully be free. no! tis not the case for in dreams we can mold and move the sword it is reality like a tempest at the sea unknown to us like scratching thumbs as walking room to room like stubbing of the toe as one turns to walk down wedding lanes like a comet descended upon the sky what was meant to be a gloomy walk down half deserted streets turned pretty in the cold winter air and a full moon which looks as if to say “should some transatlantic wind come crush us in a blow, we ourselves must be the ones who feel it first for future generations dane to ask the feeling of true death though are we not the same us and man a million years ago staring to the future! staring to the place beyond the waves the pale, a ¹