dilapidated distance from a dying breed. all pigeon holed and digable like scattered leaves. it’s only what you know, it isn’t what you think. although what you think’s all right with what you will one day know. it isn’t plain to see, your eyes. it isn’t deep within the skies. it isn’t lost or without teeth. it isn’t laying in the greens. it isn’t playing all on schemes. it isn’t trying to be anything. it relies on your forgiveness. it relies on bulleted statements. it is lists writ from the heart without a pagaen’s flaccid dart; without a christian wishing on; without a buddhist humming songs; without all green whose gold is ours. it is a pleasant way to be. it is a way beyond the seas. it is a planet from the deep now regarded but with that which covers me. oh my goodness, i cannot believe.
and that moment with the truth
that moment all too short for me and you