"There are a million roots of the singing tree; it has a million branches, and each branch a million leaves."

I wonder…
If I could find her.

In the forest, would
she axe at the trees
that blow softly in the wind
to the tune of “Just Like Heaven”?
In cranial combat, would
she bend my knees 
so far 
I left out, running scarper,
Feeling tainted?
More alone than I though it was possible to be?

I wonder
If I’ll become her
In the country
That I seek to avenge
in my spiteful,
with my likeness,

tempramental, would she creep up on me in the dark of the path
Whilst I was sleeping
And at me crack her knuckles?
More alone than I thought it was even possible to be?

I wonder
Does she think it much worth to find me?

Gene Hunt (Japanese Cherry Blossom Burner Up Your Nose All Day)

And now, everything,
Yes, everything,                                        even the pangs
                                                         I get of being so afraid of
                                                    of the things that may or may not be real,
is perfect,                                        no, I am not going to let myself
                                                    be bothered by my adherence to
                                                                      the vaguety 
                                                          and the precision! No!

Apart, of course, from that tiny
fact that it is not you
who is beside me, my love.                      yes, that man 
                                                         for whom I will not shut up, for whom
                                                      I will never stop speaking, for whom
                                                              my voice quavers and leaps
                                              with rosemary starts. That man always mention
                                                 to the heavens but never to company. Yes…
How I wish that you were beside me, for
I have such else beside myself;
You have such else within me,
You have much more inside you, darling,
I want to garden them out -
I want to twist out the weeds with a shout.               get rid of it! Shout!
                                                                      Shout it out! No, now
                                                                         you have not the rhythm, 
                                                                    the quiver to hithern!
                                                        afraid of the feeling, but not algorithm
                                            But I want to hear you! To see you live there!

                                     I’d kill just to have you,
                                     I’d die with you here.