two tales of told

in one you are flaming red vine and running taled
back under the porch where you dwell where
flesh doesn't matter.
zero. giving up

if you wake from the coma
to find your life falls in around you
like a comfortable halter
leading u home.
if.


in an other you are a floating
lit candle in hall of mirrors

reflections are a maze of identity
and one eye is as good as the rest.

time is suspended one way, then the other.
it contracts, expands, in the rhythm of your lungs.