And oh the silly battlefield of days before.
An hour floating in a puddle of magnesium water.
Breathwork and mind stilling in a chair called here and now but in a place called shut up and pretend untruth.
Playing with the symbols of the morning on a yellow brick road.
Now that’s fun.
What else is there?
The poorly delivered barkings of straw dogs?
The crows that spell work backwards.
The faith under wings of hawks.
The mice pulled apart on the pine branches beneath taloned feet.
Lights out, lights on.
Lights out again.
Whistling past the buried.
