you see the pools, the drips
the furry wings
and the spelunkers
who never made it back
with the nothing whistling
right on through their bones
no one knows you're gone
and you lose your legs and eyes
by some process, anyway
so you rock back and forth
and find that you're given
to cheerful imaginings:
'oh my imaginary lady leaving me again'
'oh everything on this damn bus is breaking down'
'oh it was all just water and nebula anyway'
when you live in a cave
you're like the echoes
of a childrens' choir,
trained by a soft, blind animal*
when you live in a cave
shadows are ever more sly
because they're the shadows
of other things' shadows;
the underbelly shadows
it goes without saying,
all of your technology
failed you early on,
and there you are,
living in a cave,
given to cheerful imaginings
*actually an ideal music teacher
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