not even the static clouds out the static. I fold along the fault line and wait for the quakes that bring down all of greek tragedy.
Timing and waiting till a turn on the page becomes a turn of the page. and I carve out the the words for which I think are being searched.
I see dancing every where and my leg is broken. I am taunted at every turn yet this book is such a gift I can't consent its decent. 'Tis not the regulated notes phrased at a pleasant pace that pounds out more pressure, its the phone. Under used and Oh so scary.
Bass rattles loose the bolts of my well worn reputation and I run.
but broken leg and heart ache may have a victory march, we'll see.
through rose colored glasses i claim the happy fields of growing and thriving.
but the toil for such a place has yet been done and will demand quite a violent conquering over the current lack of maintenance. both floor and fences not to mention the roof and these boot the grounds themselves.
I am stirred and I have such a lack.
I have so little...
But this is how the origin of greatness is brought to sight. as this story becomes open you can see beneath the corners of the pages and the support strings from above. they are not there to puppet, but to bring joy from falling!
what was once death can now be life!
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