january times

we breathe and nod to the suffering the pain the filth the unjust the ugly and we rise above beyond and through it. to a dimension all its own where reality falters and new rules crown perhaps rules there even cease to exist

and we simply do.

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bearthed

gravity the weighing of objects the weight of thoughts unstrung like dust in the moonlight carrying on unbound for chance at matter mattering to matter to be

whispers of the water

waded to wait wayward we fly past tall buildings of water of living light we know them feel them are them but do not know them as our own we turn obligatory circles whispers reach us and we learn

redirect

amongst the ferns we wicker and scare yearning for the little finger chance to pay us mind our due but overdue is our submission to grace of abundance our invitation to everlasting the times of coming