bleary eyed and punching up, thoughts jumbled, in a rush, eye rubs and phosphene rings, no sleep despite everything. a soft concession of insomnia, leads to the birthing of a slowly surging premorning mania. we awake to a great sleeping no one. it aches but is softened by no sun. make no mistake: though open wide, it's stung... moonwaker, with a tired glare unbroken. the sole line of sight in play, out the door, dark and early. unjudgedly surly, it'll be a long day. a touchstone of survival i hoped to leave behind yet nothing can quite rival this broken passage of time. bleary eyed and punching up, thoughts jumbled, in a rush, eye rubs and phosphene rings, i revisit despite everything. a soft concession of insomnia, leads to the birthing of a slowly surging premorning mania. we awake to a great sleeping no one. it aches but is softened by no sun. make no mistake: though open wide, it's stung... moonwaker, leave your tired glare unbroken.

*laugh* nice! when tensions begin brimming, your signal for beginning... so we invite you to go and emulate a quiet riot like when violets unfold. your lulling stroll is because push came to pull, that's why you lurked in the plains and hid. prairie grass tufts: a brush; your skin: the canvas. in this sensation is where you'll live. from the prairies to the library, wean your soles down slow off of tiptoe. on these old shelves, more than books are held, and these flatlands ban sensory overload. until your antennae receive the signal they need, bask in the dead air static's calming tone. and like the long blades of grass cascading past, you'll tune to the old prairie radio.

wound up so tense with the clouds so dense, the sixth sense highstrung as old bones buzz. a wicked wall of water's aching to dispense, the view to be covered in a waterlogged fuzz. as swift as if a million will-o'-the-wisps touched down drowning and rebounded in a mist, fodder for backlight in the torrent's gaps, lightning is ground by the cascade's guidance, crushed up, spit out, and at its brightest as starlight mirages from hydroelectric snaps. fissures and cracks of all of states of matter will be poked and prodded and smoothed and pried. when its form shuts down to close and shatter, the attentive come to know how a supernova dies. while overcoming a droning absence of identity, its violent cycling serves as a key to serenity. times of day blending in the dark storm shade, this is why faultlines are so lovingly splayed, why mud will form and overtake more solid dirt. tension and release constantly kiss from within earth. like a stormdrain roars out a load of backwash, the rainwater's flowing past pruning fingertips. and like an earful of downpour mimics backtalk, generative meanings are within white noise mist. the lifetime trajectory of raindrops, stars, and shadows, may seem without apparent agency in cosmic slide, but they are apparently and hopelessly embattled at war with dryness, darkness, and heat, wherever it goes. in the minds' eye, beauty's visual echo resides, so leave no stone unturned and no retina unrattled. from this, a subconscious can carve an experience which wakefulness can set the grounds of curation. there's a dull roar through which our senses sift, to exist as a star and tone in its timbre is our statement.

if i get shot down, at least that means i was flying, falling in tatters, it still matters, so i will not be silenced. in the wreckage on this silent hill, there is something to salvage running ragged and skipping backwards, there’s a lot to reach head downhill to face the challenge beneath the cerulean sheets. dashing through this dark grove so compassion can take root, slowing to notice the fellow planters caked in soot. your irregular pace brakes after colliding with the like-minded, panic is erased, fear is replaced, organized grace uprises. for in this grove is a treasure trove of thoughts inter-winding: you're leery of angering sunlight until it's a killer by degrees, working for a calm, steady beam to shine always, guaranteed. if we get shot down, at least that means we were flying (flying), falling in tatters, it still matters, so we will never be silenced.

it was how it was when we needed it to be here: a stagnant ebb and flow that always kept our heads clear. this place has pause and pulse in equal parts, placeless anxiety is tamed by its landmarks. like a monarch, lovingly butterfly-effected, we may migrate away but will never have left it. for a crown cast from shelters of noise-turned sound, has a lifetime of fond memories as its unbound emblem. devastate plot with conviction and stampede past the horizon, not passive and mindful but active and unwinding. if this place were to ever fall by the wayside, in its ripples survives this ignited state of mind. devastate

at a streetcorner standing until the lights change, headsets loud at war with cold in outrage, the tailpipes and breath form crystallized clouds, wearing coats of sound and linen-lined down. mortar joints of the brick road are molding, the town's wearing its heart on its torn sleeves. they couldn't've known how it'd be emboldening to walk on this street aging gracefully. blinded by the ground's white coat, but warm from winter's festivities, compassion isn't a fairweather anecdote despite everyday taking up eternities. everyday eternities experience everyday eternally (everyday (x3) eternity) (x4) evergreens on the road are sandwiched between rocks and steep snowbanks, footfalls uncover by softly landing, candytuft growth losing snow's arms race. so plod on if only to blaze a trail; walk around and uncover a universe. for life finds a way without fail, from our footprints, pine saplings spurt. then a fanfare of service bells rung in defiance and as their tone swells, glory to God in the highest! glory to universal siblinghood, give us restraint to stay safe. inside but insistent on livelihood, glory to people of every faith!

oh, this place it abhors you so you should let it know. oh, i implore you to deal a killing blow. like a meteor shower could end a dogfight with more starpower than at a darksite drive a wooden stake through the foundation make cheap concrete break with no hesitation. stargazing at this darksite, crumpled blanket beneath, sharpening your knife for our life of gritted teeth. terraforming and stonecarving, heavens inspired us to unpack, transform, fend off starving, & move mountains to the moon & back a look above conceals, when there's just as much below. back against the field, resting with a telescope. shoulderblade grassy dew is a kiss from exoplanets. daydream of a view, earthly barriers notwithstanding. without teeth gnashing and an iron will, without threats of slashing and a willingness to kill, your shelter will tumbleweed through the twinkling plain though it's vicious, take heed: at gunpoint come growing pains (growing pains, growing pains) awake and on watch in the sticks with truly no light pollution, miles from the nearest bricks, hours from external movement, lightyears from floodlights, seconds from your end of shift, forever from the end of a fight for our right to exist. so pitch a tent like a tenement, tight quarters with low rent. the dusky spread is heavensent, brightness incarnate overhead. it's charming how starstruck our tender bodies are, spread, exhausted from running amok, rolling into a taffeta cocoon bed. spend every day in while being out in the rubble your stake creates, then hitch the wagon to a house you'll cobble from the agate. they'll demean the beast as rabble in hushed tones because they hate how the common man's babble can breakout and self-legislate. from raw ore and boulders to teflon and stonework, as if tromner hammer kneejerks were induced by cold shoulders, we're propelled by their scorn as a boost to our sprint. build a stone fortress forlorn, but bask in the achievement. oh, this place it abhorred you so you should let it know. oh, i implore you to deal a killing blow. a look above conceals the support from below. backs against the field, looking through a telescope. from lightyears away, floodlights will grace your end of shift. we'll win the fight for our right to exist.

pluto is not forgotten here the heart crater below has an occasional atmosphere distance: lightyears; visibility: zilch, but when it seem to disappear, pluto’s beneath the earth’s tilt. the planets above, former planet beneath: swaddle us in love, forever orbiting. sunrise inbound, mania exhausted, past actions still resound, overwhelmingly confident. the path back is misty, sad saplings all about. five moons and mystery inspire an irregular route we let gravity lay us down, having returned with much to intake. the posse helped rebuild this house, devastating odds beat in high stakes rejects in our orbit become found family so let’s adore it a newfound clarity.