from bed, dear edie, the streets are wet

this is all temporary

that’s why we must press on with immediacy

not running around fleet of foot, but with ideas that propel us from the inevitable soot of life’s end and the beginning of memories wedged deep in the recesses of minds that still travel in a temporal world of light and grass a moment that flashed before their eyes developing a sense of wonder and cries, tears that adjust to emotions of pain and lust, loss and a blush.

songs that provide background passages to trigger situations traveling through time unwinding and winding and unwinding and winding, ebb and flow, darkness and that glow. the hum of magnetic ties of energy pools that synthesize our past and present, reaching for moments when we will present as a whole beating heart withdrawing an individuals part for this act is nothing more than every act all destroying the concept that we are under attack from false idols and plain dwellers who hide out in bank cellars wishing and waiting to take what was theirs as they climb the stairs to a world that won’t exist when the creatures from above start to resist every bastardizing mockery we made of their belonging.

we never wanted them.

it was, and continues to be, a fake figment, an illumination casting shadows in shapes of delusion hoping to light our way home. A home we ran from since understanding it wouldn’t be in the space travel excitement that cradles the churning pleas of a sea where we finally rest and cease to be.

it’s me.

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