wild nothing

he was on his way
further than vision,
no wonder his wild wish
wanted to view his toes
from some of those,
patterns in the pentatonics,
and his nails were cut to the tone

Voices,
as a body may do,
it unlatched some screws
no longer could he differentiate
apart from his moonbeams
the directions to be given
to all those of whom were missing.

I found his candor to be quite artisanal
so I stopped on my way,
to view my feet from the bottom, there,
and their he stood, lungs in the air.
Inhalation of his tone,
so mine exhumed an old self,
one without toes
but all the predilections to be so.

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