Fodder

Made without thought, falling from lip to bottom, this is what makes the flesh tedious and finds me wanting more. I try and continue to hold the line, the dots, the streaks of foul, the screams from stones, but nothing comes to me, no word worthy. Facing the east is easy, finding the path that takes you there cries for labor and fatigue. Posting does little more than shattering the glass that can only be seen in sleepful eyes and mist. Pounding harder about the ground I move outward, stretching my craziness without fear of attending ears. Hands off of me, take yourself away and don't look backward lest ye fell your own best.