Always looking for emptiness, a place where nothing happens, and life is ignored, passing the ball, what really happened, poetry, just air, not really existing, but the audience looks, a poet reaching for the moon, measured and weighed, so much judgement, spells and curses, infected, magick exists, and maybe so do virgins, and children, always looking for jokes, but they’re too expensive, mental gymnastics, still a dirty uncle, trying his best, to justify his space, the world exists, this nest by the river, hoping to pass through, if he ever looks back, he'll deny it ever happened, so many witches, connections and strings, waning crescent, yearning waits, doomed to find fulfillment...

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