Stranglers Poem by Cin Sweet

shh, i to me, whistling, blowing, leaning
one day, or wide sky blue full of eternity
either, I reached up to claw my mind-itch
this, geographically half-way to my dead
me, i, blind fool swearing i could see
reaching up with spider-mind timidity
feeling, felt, fingertipped them
barked branches growing from my gourd
they to me, knotted polite
'taste the longing moistening your breath'
'you, the practicing tree'
and i, sadly, felt the roots growing within me
strangling my train.