I write on my nature in my head. Let’s hold a séance! 
I snare us Joy to starve a fever. (Is it raining out?  
At a range in speeds and locales.) 
Many rooms, each story (usually) with clay-toned physiques  
fighting the relative fight waving, receding to one another  
 
— everybody under an influence indoors and out, which is filthy. A foot of snow from the window. Laps of water filled with light snow, rotating in reverse as if catching on how to purify their offspring & manage fever in lurches of nibbling torque adjusting the day into days.