Eighty beyond the zeros, wisdom shook the foundations once again.
A failure to perceive makes for bad baking habits
and this cake is in dire need of an oven.
The embargo continues and sleep flows like an intravenous drip.
While the acetylene torch of dreams scrapes out the benefit of any double time.
Each thought spun out, creates drag. Like the young take flight, I am pulled into the air and my feet
my feet forget themselves.
this season of loss draws on
to its end
and even that end will be loss, but one I count as gain.
all that is dross, fits nicely in the ashen nest.
I love fire. It's an effective tool.
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