the art of blank

every soul
has left me
not solely in the physical
but there is an absence from there brain.
heart to brain
feet to plane

my affection is growing small
each day
for the desire to bleed into another's 
solar I have always done with such ease.

I still don't know where I should make my bed

exactly which soil I should learn to love

I still don't know where I belong.

or which tea cups ide like to fill up

in which kitchen. on what stove.

I am searching for new translations.
once again

I am closing the book on new characters
in this story
to fill my cup