The Shift to “N”

-g is that the inside has no walls
-sheetrocked in bills or blessed with holy paint-
To dangle from one's power cord

Non-rule No. 1:
If you burn yourself on a pre-swallowed cell-forming fire
The little buds on your tongue just might all melt into one

Do the blank page float:

A self suspended between two lines
Like the curve of a question mark
Which opens at its side
Like a net to taste what lives within the wind

And filters it through its stringed-together stomach before it dries
Without chance to do some trimming

It was the fourth time this month
She'd super-glued her hands to the railing;
Took a slice of rearview mirror to pry them off-
She admits she mistook it for the pair of crutches
St. Peters sold to her last year when she'd asked of God's real name

It's the annual hand-carved banister clear out:
Selling the extra padding back to the makers
Donating the open space to the quick-to-grip... pers

The trick is in the afterbuild-
Laying out the self accordingly - curves n' all

(and even certain modern architects have given up on the right angle)

A healthy hand of freedom
Accompanies removing nails that
A good cushion of pages and mid-forest guessed steps

Only grabbing for doorknobs to shift weight comfortably-
Take a break from the ground war

And at the same hour each night
She tucks her eyes into her lap
And only dreams with the lights on;
And as every expected morning fades back in
The sun continues to press the blinds against the wall she wakes up along

It's the running in-and-out of shadows barefoot therapy
And statistics show it's healthier for your feet
Than too-tight shoes

There's no counting on artificial light
It's powerless to a human switch

Besides, it only takes a moment for seeing to adjust-
A simple exercise for the lid hugger:
Stretching the eye's frame to fit memories in the making

Working with the same materials-

It's okay to create

The scariest thin...