At some point

the millennial journeys

across the nomadic fields

of our earliest iterations

returned far more aware

than they had departed –

straying significantly


the roads most travelled

by those whose noses

otherwise stayed


a limb’s reach

of the pungent calls

(and their primal



of the ground.


At this point probably

somewhere upon those first fields

the world was De-sired

as blades of grass sitting between toes

increasingly within sight

of a nosey-eyed



were squeezed there tightly

and yanked in the following movement

(all perhaps for a moment of amusement

against a newly creeping sense of nostril-decayed boredom)

a hair-cut

turning the ground over

and better revealing a face looking for reflection

and the scissoring emboldened by this

cutting through

gone looking for something

a shape –

not just

another tree

in the forest of retention,

but a door, perhaps –

the way out

and thus, it would be

once de-sired

the world coming back together again

but never quite

and never quite the same again;


and thus,

it was,

would be,