Shitty compass
Every move forward in effort to
untangle a thought
finds more
foldings & layerings—
even if only in form of a moth attempting
ingression through a glass door on my
forehead,
even if only in form of a beetle intersecting
my path in the
opposite direction on a late night return
home,
To
make smooth & then assess, such is the
mark of this ken’s gaze.
Even if only in
form of new ken’s formation.