I caught myself falling face first with eyes closed… and it felt like dissappointment when I managed to regain consciousness, regain balance, retain my teeth; I wonder were it better if I’d dashed my face into the corner, breaking something, or many things, so that I may be permitted to stay home awhile to recover from the falls that neither bleed, nor bruise, nor swell.

The flow between the swift and high, in slips, and steps, and slides, together, make this a feast for those who yearn to taste the thumping force they weather; dancing through the dash of storms, wherein the thrawls of crimson valor, name themselves as Kings, as Queens, as Gods to those who tap and stagger.

Today was made for sweaters and tea, hunkering down in glass conservatories, listening to music, and rain on the glass, and tomato soup for lunch.

The world at pause, I fill my pen with ink.

Imagine it. And imagine then that’s all you had; a slither of reality – no. Ideality. – existing only inbetween material connections, like sequencing the static, making messages of snowstorms, reading not between the lines but all the edges of your letters, drawn out to both confess and hide and seek and lie and whisper halve truths, whole truths, broken thoughts and details, alluding to a truer you that once you knew; at once, outgrew.

Give over to the soul who tolls, and steals you from the sandy tower, rings hard and true on every hour, demanding that you give again.

Give everything you had reserved for dire needs and empty shelves, and spill it bare upon the floor, to be adored, to long for more.

Give in and let it drag you far and low beneath the peak and crest. Come rest where memories bury deep, where waters take and give you sleep.