Enlightenment Light, Hot Window, Loud Music, Baby Cries

Enlightened still.
I am. 
Order does not
matter.
Nor does
matter. 
Good verbs
wait outside
on the curbs
for their honer
to return 
and admit:
loner. 
Here,
I sit.
That
is it.
And the lightness that filled my eyes 
and the land behind my eyes
now fills also
the places beyond my I.
Images sketch my outsides
and wretch these prides. 
Imagine: ego
bygone
resonged
longed forth. 
My seat
beats heat
by sweating
and letting
the sun do
with me
what it
will.