To leave

There's a small town in my mind
Would i want to leave it?
I could hurt someone

There's the cold hook in my mind
The catch of my step
Pressed in the vulnerability
It could hurt someone

There's a small room with a tremored old woman
Quilting my future
Through the veneration
She'll die soon
It could hurt someone

There's a notion in my mind
The rush of the running
And I hold my everything

It could hurt me

Dome

Been so long since dome pitched
Personed from the storm
And broke the barrier belief
That the tidings are for warm

A trapment saved me on the night
Of singing trees, dripping heights
And in here all i take is flight
A storm within the storm
A place to see
But without form

Here shadows mar the walls
Till watercolors make
Up everything
An rain it steals even that
So it leaves you wondering
Where the walls gone?
Where the walls gone?
They must have been gone all along

Item

Item just a rudiment
Given grace
Given whole sense and taste
Given world unto itself
Until only immanent

Item part of world
To hold
To wield
To clutch with tastes and grace
So close to the being of it

Item part itself
Sense, independent
Sense, a firmament
Pure as pearls
But still the very same:
A rudiment