This is how God feels insulated warmth Thickly shaking off dream feathers Blessed timeless blisses Yesterday is an unread chain my skin illiterate & numb. Hungry & dim. Cotton womb aglow insolar Do I dream, wake, wonder? Time returns. The senseless tick Of the clock, is a sequence, a sentence. Bit, bit, I recall The feeling of living skin skin I live in. In the record of my flesh, I find yesterday. I mourn the ignorance of bodilessness. If only I was a feathered angel I was a dream