in the first-floor room i sit polishing fragments/regrets and silences fall from me as i follow [through] silences / road. flower.road. / sometimes i do not count how many there have been. / i have reason to believe this is a kind of homeland.. i have wandered lightyears away already/from the particular bile/of your loving companonship/ the recycled slut dream/the room i cannot enter again/need not/i have my own