Thursday, May 7

Sprint the Ocean, Sail the Land

The flags of my latest coordinates would follow a single pulse spike, or a cycle from a music conductor.
Your choice.

4,739 miles outside of myself I found something.

I cant even begin to count the inventory of gifts I took away. Call it dowry for the day and minute marriages. An hiding tatoo that lingers if you are watching the wavelengths. Eyes flickering, tongues singing. I cannot catalogue the changes I have internalized. Even the wayward boomerangs are harping towards home.

Make like a snake if you want to know what I mean.
Go anywhere and leave your skin behind.
Be not solid.
Be not vision.

Be open...


And try not to shake the world such a violent accident when you find it cradled in your finger tips.