Little alleys little alleys
trying to find the end of one
as my brain synapses onto something else
Is there a way out of this green mossy mind
Where dark chambers reside and the nearness
Of others who remain mysterious
exacerbates the loneliness of these thoughts?
Who is here to tend these cerebral gardens
The celestial beings seem to give little concern
To these interactions
And is the end of this is there a destination,
Or just a place of respite or release?
Or is it just nothing, a place to hide
From the dim outside
While others wait their turn?