If I could circumnavigate the problem. My eyes would amongst obscurity of the forest fell - rush through the shadows puppetry pine needles and leaf fronds Out of focus, rambling forward, the squid ink syllables would grip the glare of page and white space. Invoking a trace of loss. I would breathe the gulp of absinthe within my tide filled bronchus. Under this full lunar time. I would film stars in pylons shooting the lethargy of parabolic light to relieve your inertia. I would play the hum of lament, a fiddle and an opera voiced image - harp plucked across no melody. May the white wind dance, may the fiddlers footing show her. May the rhetoric seethe. If I could circumnavigate the crowds into my own empty auditorium. I would hold all I love inside my belly tightly, where no daggers could gleam, or, release a whispered cessation of argument unheard by apron strings or empty kitchens. If I could envelope all thought into page - lost by tactile velvet – remain. Show your dot to dot freckles, hold up your crystalline salted cheeks and drying eyes. Pause the heart race and beat, and break the semi-quavered lip that lacks voice and directional breath Let a multitude and verisimilitude of coloured paint drip over my visage. Rip up your bed and catapult the springs, safe from a lack of what cannot be dreamt. Only infinite footsteps would be heard, this heather-lined pictorial that spans capacity. If I could circumnavigate the problem, I would see from all angles I cannot reach. If I could circumnavigate the problem. I would write clearly. And speak back the enunciated gasp of life. I could circumnavigate. If. The problem, was my own.