A passage unto unknown friendly ears, flocking memorablias.
"Let them brake the layers!" the morning wails.
Skin holds us back. It shelters the whimpering spine as our probablities demand more.
Ours is the hold, the water cries. Naming the restless gabbles into vague shadows.
Leave our names. Leave the boushe of dependencies by the door. You need only your aura.
Let us sit in catacombs of filing cabenet globes. Ere as speech mimics the colors.
You have yet to learn of the weaving brought by your train.
Bird means blue, air is death. Work has brought the turrents to your front porch.
Determine the essences of volume, tone, output, length, what was said, what was meant, who you are saying it to, what was heard, what was recieved, what inanimate objects absorded or repelled, can you hear me from downstairs?
Children see space. I see nothing, for there is nothing. Colors are there maybe but only cause they want you to see them as solid. Open as they are.
We are not round, just a clump of dirt.