Dear foundationalist,
I’m thinking of a color — no name.. an antsy-ness 
running everywhere that’s off — waiting for some big thanks 

there was nothing & then a voice  
went upstairs & locked the door. 

                               A voice with cavities.

Dear foundationalist,

You’ve been expelled for a month, next week.. experimenting with yourself.. 
leaving a sneezing grid with rectangular doors opening to violent sprinkles & irresolution...