Elsewhere doing

My ambivalence that can't get shook.
My shadow thought
My misanthropic tea
        steeped strong.
Who is that ancestor telling me
to keep looking for greener greener pastures?

A house again,
slipped through on gliding socks.
Backsliding to that
Thing we do:
Being elsewhere -
Save a seldom flash of
here-ness
just past the horizon


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