ON THIS STREET I HAVE NOT YET NAMEDAt the end of the street
is a dream
But somehow I can touch it.
Or is it touching me?
And with what?
Somehow I know it's there.
On this street I have not yet named.
How can I name this street?
No book large enough for words,
Not any you can hold with your hands.
So I walk down this road.
Feet meet ground hard,
bringing an odd ache.
I just head forward,
head and shoulders sticking out,
spiky things of thoughts.
Everything doesn't have to be smooth.