last night when you came to my home and i sat in low light singing songs of insanity in a bowler hat

you were infatuated and knew all over again how much stuff lives upstairs

and how the seance of research summons incense and darkened eyes

every piece is a period piece.

in this period i am visited by spectres and ecstatically sail down the peneus and through wikipedia articles

as my books are not yet annotated and my brain is not yet full

.this period is not so different from any other.

last night when you came to my home and i looked at you in low light, songs of insanity still lingering in the air

you sat and watched me try to summon from this trance

a person capable of meeting you

a person more like yourself

a person you

but i, unwilling, squirmed and balked.

last night to clear the songs of insanity from the low-lit room, we went a-walking, looking similar as always (except for bowler hat)

and after leaving treats to gods of this and that, found ourselves once more in low-light

and i played that song again, but this time you heard you were no longer listening

you sweetly threatened to take your consciousness and drape it about my room until there was not enough of it left in your head to keep your body awake

and i was jealous of your way with words

and sabotaged your attempts at sleep

for a time

but you apologized for nothing after nothing

and i grew weary of crazed reason which

had so fervently insisted that

i keep my soul tucked inside my flesh neatly

succinctly

and without hope of escape through chilly fingertips seeking warmth against your breast.

but having to your presence thawed

i abandoned winter isolation and after a period of hibernation

came out again to greet the spirits, fresh