There are places we left somewhere back in our somewhere
Corners that ‘round the brain to bring us back again
Spots of some off-shoot thought we never thought might
Touch us again
I think of those places, no different than you
And I run there like it’s no one’s business
And I make it my mark to do so
And I take no prison in the places that prisoner me
I do make great movement in the great speak
We have together
And the whisper
That makes the hair stand on our arms. . . out here
Pass your right hand down your left, bare sleeve
That’s where I’ll be. . . goose bumped and pickled