these tired, charred lungs.
every incident conspired through stage talk,
quiet limbo ---in search of the the truth that binds the legs and arms to the whole of the body
what is that truth that connects these parts like glue? which side of the beach is real blue?
someday you'll feel the things you always knew.
evening brings crisp fog over the horizon, the wanderers are quick to silence in the depths of the green fields and onion bridges.
enough of this, the crowd would plead, dear me, too much insanity for one week.