Limitations are defining; that is, deafening.
On and on
And then it's over.
Spiderthreads make taut patterns that collapse in rain.
Piano keys in a pattern we play patterns on. Language likewise.
The anniversary passed with little notice. Nostalgia is easy in fall. Harder elsetime.
Spiders go to work in the wee hours and are kings of new kingdoms by morning.
We watched it all. Kept records. Annotated the photographs which we will pass along to our children's children whose strange nonexistence is pure mockery come to think of it.
Having a haven is heaven.
More than a quota of birthrights.
Expectations and entitlements broach no nuance.
We've all wanted to live in the bosom of knowing and safety before tragedy.
Come, come now admit it!
It'll lose you in itself. And that's one way of getting along.
One place to call one's habitat.
A fall all year long beside a summer at the beach.
Abby knows where it's snowing and darking out. It happens everyday.
See you there!