Trance.

I'm not even there

A sidling smoke floats like an orphaned pup

After the rain, the scent is gone

I've spent a week on the trail, on the hunt

The moving targets are just too much!

Overly satisfying to me, they seem to be

The over-stimulation is my only present salvation

So I ran from them all

Holed up in the wastes

And I moved

And I sang

And I will keep singing

I'll never stop moving