Everything makes sense. Even upside down. I follow the dots and make my lines. I reach up I can dig deep I withstand the blood rushing away from the feet. With a toss of a few words carelessly strewn I can cross stitch them back so they have a cushion to sink, a pond to bathe a bed to rest. No stress.
Unless falling apart is an issue. Corrosion is part of the big picture cycle. Shit speaks loud in the forest even if no one is listening. It eventually makes kaboom. Afterwards choice will always be abandoned for automated remote control. That machine runs so loud it’s hard to hear the other more subtle sounds.
Down to ground. The ground. Grounding. I should be so happy; to think at least that I have myself; an entire solar system brimming with verve. Get with the program; here for the long haul, as an island. Once in a while ships touch bulwark, but that’s a luxury for places like the high plateau.
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