He contends with the wind to be where it's been Collecting sediments from the lives that powder his feet
He grows weary of his skin as it provides the very itch for supplemental lives Tantalizing a disconcerting niche Seeing in degrees as eyes bob in between cardinals
His body: the means, fallen victim to his map of a mind It wont stop until the sky has parted ways oh so many times His body is his means He demands love wherever he lands He only has remorse for cities that could've been better seen
A walking third party perspective He prospects of any place yet seen Another busy ant with an angry queen to please
Oh Gods, where have I been? I've never traveled your world and I'm standing at the end An easy settlement wields enough not enough of a lot of things
