If fields dissolve we will all yell, “phenomenon.”
It does not seem compatible; the looks, the feels, the moves, so vulnerable.
I come on top again, so level with the surface.
I crawled across that slick, my creep barely perceptible.

Swimming, Floating, Banking.
Crawling, Walking, Flying, Falling.
Being, Feeling, Thinking.
Sorting, Speaking, Speaking, Speaking.

We all feel narrative, this slinky scale from left to right, but,
But am I narrative? This surface seems to say so.
I sink my knees into the earth, where air and land divide,
The knees grow firm and calloused, their movement now a mimicry.

We can’t forget the way it gets done.
Noise making mouths are on the run.
It culminates on this barrier,
And we forge their rhythm-destinations.

Object-naming time is fun.
Object-making time has come.
Nouns slide around on this barrier; drop them,
Touch them, push them, feel them, breathe them.

Insides outside, how they hum.
Is this the only way it gets done?
Lungs, windpipe, larynx, tongue, teeth, air;
Controlling, rolling, breath-shaped dare.

We trapped this wind and now we all accrue the capital.
This verdict is not criminal, this tell-tale wind, digestible.
Air, land, air, land, in air, on land,
I thinly coat the surface with firsthand presuppositions.

Wondering, wiggling, woozy with “when?”
Horizontal contributions turned resolved problem solutions.
From left to right again, I think it smells of varnish here.
This surface has veneer, not clear, a tactile residue.

We can’t forget the way it gets done.
Noise making mouths are on the run.
It culminates on this barrier,
And we forge their rhythm-destinations.

Object-naming time is fun.
Object-making time has come.
Nouns slide around on this barrier; drop them,
Touch them, push them, feel them, breathe them.

Insides outside, how they hum.
Is this the only way it gets done?
Lungs, windpipe, larynx, tongue, teeth, air;
Controlling, rolling, breath-shaped dare.
Controlling, rolling, breath-shaped dare.
Controlling, rolling, breath-shaped dare.