2.

solitude is my own little island
not like a desert, but with a hammock;
i sit and i think; i relax, and i pray,
and i read or sing or play music for my ears

the perfection of silence is not an (un)heard snore
dreaming is such a dreadful bore. draw the curtains,
send them furling, don't leave one curling --
just keep me reeling with any tired old lore!

dreaming dulls this boy's scheming;
made lovers and friends or
maybe i philosophize before grasping and
chasing before fleeing my ....
so much the same

run at the first, pursue a nothing at the next;
grasp at the third and pontificate before
my mo(u)rning of my flight and my grasping -

but it's that darkness of night that gives me rest,
from grasping and chasing before fleeing death in my chest,
it's better than the crowd of the day that clings all over me
and my hammock -- reminds me of more time for reclaiming

maybe, it's come to my attention, that
i don't sleep because i have nothing to chase
some (no)thing in my heart that needs a little space