concave

(exerpt from an anthology of poems I'm putting together...)

I can spend hours, days, months trying

Slip outside of skin

I manage otherwise

To live outside

I can make mountains

I can concave

I am uncertain as to weather this whether

I am stuck

Like sticky mud that catches shoes

Suctions off to leave struggling

Balancing with an exposed white, cotton sock

Like a topiary labrinth

Where hedges grow around

Open paths

A constant: crossed wires blur

And never ending waves of static become the august of this canto