I Go Where The Trees Are Sleeping In Droves

I go where the trees are sleeping in droves.
in the peace of somnambulant groves;
perched in frostbite and sugar, with all my teeth
and postage stamps gathered into a pile 
of awkward. But I continue like a crop 
of circular arguments.
i hang stars where a storm should be.
and can’t remember where i was
Wednesday.
I'm always this.