Transform the sounds.
Freedom is staggering, clambering, moving.
Floor is twitching - stop shaking.
Cold slips up your sleeve.
Losing your leaves.
Winter tree - black arteries
Stretched against sky
Rattling out sighs.
So many paths.
Traces branches, seek sources and ends.
What yields what?
Can't see past zero.
Just pushing, and the pushed pushes.
I imply over and over down lots of tunnels.
I'm implied by a web - a naked tree of decisions and occurrences.
I change every instant, arranging conditions - pushing, dizzying progressions.
I fit on a template, I need to understand it.
Without rhythm I know I couldn't follow it.
Clutch close - don't break.