Seeking breaks in double lines
When sense don’t seem to make some
Outward light from shining states
And rowdy hums from rumbling tum
What feels right and what feels wrong
Can’t tell apart what is, is what
Ain’t nothing what I thought I was
And tacky lips turn cold to hot
Double days they treat me as
As best it can, as can as is
Sensing made of crawling change
And flat-lines bubble up to fizz
Crumbs in my belly button 