lines begin with
reality and
alternating planes; the
space between-
impervious to
light.
we speak, but so rarely
hear ourselves breathe, the
very material from which we sustain
ourselves
vanishing with horizonlines
into a vast expanse of blue.

its all a game from here.
assuming pretentions, all
consuming lonliness, curiosity,
human hands. crests and troughs
crackle
connecting comfort
to the sound-flood
pouring out the back.

i can't decide whether i
carry a cross by
falling in; loving everyone,
feeding curiosity with
desire, or if by
impulse, it is a vice ridden flight.
a domineering fate.

everything is moving.
4:05 am and 94% humidity
buzzing computer fans,
vent sighs-
it's this place.
something about this place.
and somehow, we're all still
children.