I'm still alone, following myself
& the following,
in another self-engrossed
empty mud pile
on neurdead paths.
Opium hours, chase me
with so many other beautiful seashells
& erocrazy conchs,
fleeting deaths, absent memories,
other greasy oozes, constructs that oppose me
while I follow myself & the following,
from one end to the other
ardently, without being with myself
or the other.