This knowing trains and planes
exist to take us farther
from regions we cannot stand
any longer
manifests itself as a continually tempting thought.
Light speed and broken sound barrier
to displace in haste.
The batter smashes a ball—
going, going,
gone.
The body is a vessel, too.
Flail with catatonia
‘til you stand with your feet
planted in fresh soil.
But remain dislodged, accepting
the terms of expedition.
Follow the streams closely from here
and see where they lead you.
—N.A.
Mouth Thorn 