Chop, turn and locate. Stir the dust and sniff the page No, do not gulp right now. Halt and watch the words flossing amidst the golden page there, a wire of tangent imageries, a sharp tooth that slurps the pain wiping faded things, blossoming into a new Earth- No, do not stop! A word you mis-spelled, just like the rotten limbs of yours a field of moth & moss, scratch the page, prick the word again now scratch your face & swollen head Yes, there...almost. Think. Think. Think. It roams and gossips a false hiccup a false person into your thinking But it does not make sense yet, as is this poem to you. An empty hallway a barren seed and faces of pale glamour. So how do you read a poem now? Do you make love to it or watch it getting naked moist as a Sunset charm? I suggest you chop, turn and locate this poem.