She tried to paint my face with her eyes,

And in their torment

I am nailed to the cross to watch

An out-of-body occupation

Bearing the weight of time chased by my dreams

Nailed to watch the inventions of my imagination

As friends are by our promises

A source of infinite mis-direction

And in my intoxication

I heard myself speak facts, clearly, I didn’t think I’d later mind:

‘Rash mayne, never trust depths beyond your own understanding’

This was a declaration through these endless revolutions

And ceaseless tides

Abandoned like a vagrant’s call for help

I embraced a warm early February afternoon

For a change and

Vowed to find Miss Direction.