An Essay on Contemplation

Describing to me your view:
            "The world turns in several shabby places," she breathes.

                        "Nothing Dies With Blue Skies"

And, with that, a desolate departure of the present is confronted.....


Screaming, this holiday loses all meaning in you
                                    But, we don't always have nice formulas.


at seven thirty-eight, i do not feel as much as i used to-- it makes me upset to think that i had
seen all of this before. aphids make my bed, a humble beginning of new experiences, into a
mescaline-driven sparkle of us. the foily sounds of a well-patterned take-off reach up and around.

"Get the ether; mescaline's not working."