On which planet(s) does “it” reside? You may wonder what “it” may be, and so do I. That everlasting tiny nearly nonexistent word, keeping our cerebrums on the edges of skulls, our fingers clenched, our tongues unhinged. How can I detail into thoughts and conceptions what “it” is. Cold sweat, 3 AM, witching hour hauntings begging the demons under the bed to release us. May the outer worlds or the supernaturals guide us home, with a name, with a face, with hands that we may hold onto, with words we can give. We wait, I wait, waiting.