I collide with Michael’s boundaries.

His boundaries edge long wide fields stretching
As far as the horizons- the are beautiful like ancient stone walls  fashioned during long years of habit and solitude.

I don’t know where they end or begin I just know                                                                                                   they are implacable and
strong and when they come down like a prison gate
I don’t know which side I am on.

My boundaries are fluid and vertical

like geysers

thrown up in response to acute pressure or deep

puncture wounds.

They are beautiful too, I think, like many things born in the fissures of change.

I collide with Michael’s boundaries

damn damn, I think,

I have done it again

I slam my head with a blue flowered vase.

It feels somewhat the same.