An ocean of iron(y) in my brain— coursing rushing flooding veins neuropsychologists inside my head— I think they think my brain is fucked my wings a few feathers: molting shedding floating never never landing Now sprinkled on the ground an infinity— waves fire sound Under, beneath— mountains of moss an infinity of hills a sea of wavy loss memories— bullets shooting blasting missing bullets pierced me still— I fought. Now—who am I? I remember not.
