born a wanderer by virtue of limbs were it not for lines and letters I would roam the map unhindered every creature is more bound than I oak by root and elk by mind and even birds keep their aerial paths culture is cutting lines cutting space, cutting self cutting the mental map to size by cell bound to people by social bound to country will enough numbers hold me still? I yearn for liberty-- freedom without fear-- but daily I am forced to choose.

Breathtaking-- Hazel eyes speak a deep soul and I drown like a marooned sailor gulping the baleful brine. To desire-- With such palpable need I fear as death cannot inspire that I am fixated like a rat to the snake-eyes of unshaken indifference. To love-- As one does without knowledge, the chest-aching specter of certainty that drives men to be fools --What would you have me do? Trust to fate and come to me, Or else arrest this froward heart.