Something has shifted inside of my soul,

And somewhere a worm is thinking of moles

That dig in the earth and lay waste to homes

Created with care and sea green foam.

But I am neither flightless bird nor mole with purpose.

I am man with slow up and down changing speed days wrapped in weeks of something I’m not quite sure exists like creative waves.  Or outer space.

I cannot feel it,

It does not exist.

I cannot eat it,

I don’t yet wish

to know what’s real.