RIDDLE

                                                            RIDDLE

I am not antagonistic proprieted who sleeps on worlds undone, who hides in midnight shift sigh, and releases a vaporous tongue. 

I am not a blue-eyed talked into it, who saw before she came – a latent exist, a wrists time tick-tick, and when will you ever surrender?

I am not too torpid beneath cavern dermatologist ice and I look like a singer who can’t know the words, but lives just to say them again. 

I am not a whisper of sitcom or treasurefold – I am that which is out of the in.

          I am not an undoer of dedications unending and I sleep upstairs in the night. 

I do have an energumen of falsehood and hate but then so does every end.

          I have debt of only that which isn’t on exist, and I wait to hear sunrise at ten. I have number of eight to risk being a mild obvious, yet I still remain scared of my legs.

                                                Who am I

                                                nicolee ferris

                                                 sept 2001