111 obtuse

Woven like woven
Well off with your heart tucked away
Thoughts meet,envelope each other, over-lap
Drift like ice shelfs from our own mother ship
Driven like driven, a type of movement for slaves or kids
From my cold dead hands will my lying to myself be pried away from me
Egotripable am I
I'd rather not recognize myself and explore being itself
I'd like to find out whether patternlessness is itself an immense pattern and song