Intangibles of his life is what had sustained him Dried crust of smeared mud going in what direction Amoebic movements When it got too much, he laundered himself of his thoughts Willing himself to go blank Knobs pulled him out of it after a while And he did come back. He had too. Who else would clean the doormat? If only he had a menhir Wouldn’t it make his burden easy to carry? What was one more?