I'm floating,
or - perhaps - flowing.

I can't tell
sans gravitational 
pull.

I want to reach
for something 
solid,
but I have nothing
with which to reach.

I want to scream,
but I have nothing
with which to make sound.

So, I'm left to yearn.

All I can do is yearn -
yearn my ass off -
and variations, thereof:

-pine,
-aspire,
-crave,
-wish,
-etc.


The Epicureans
believed in 
soul particles 
[lighter & finer
than body particles]
and I wonder whether 
my soul particles
could knock loose
a feather precariously
balanced on the
edge of a dresser?