Who are my bats?

To own and be had simultaneously
Is a concept and reality
Perhaps it could be called culture
Over-extra words for notions
That make a cauldron bubble

Such is the tribe of a colony
Wrapped up in a circle
Squared off by the herd
Whose groupishness can be
Confirmed by looking at 
Emotion and power and direction

Physics analogies are trite
Tried and untrue
Entanglement, gravity, gas particles
There is too much clarity 
It's like god and religion
Heaven, hell, pergola
When we or I or you or us
Live under a series of suns

Identify to identity
These narrative threads compel
With whom can I roost
And where do we live
Unless it's on the wing
Intertwined through thought
Rather than minutes and location

Yearning and home work together to
Compel their constituents 
Toward a sort-of ideal
Of which I am a victim as well
May there be a winter of sleep
Bound up with together
And freed from the dissonant light
That shone from childhood to night

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