Who is The Recipient?
Am I writing this poetry for me, or for the readers?
Did I explain what I saw painted in your picture?
Or may I paint the picture that your words have shown me?

Maybe I keep a record of my reality for some undetermined purpose to one day be revealed to maybe you or me.
Whatever the reasons, I present as both master and servant to undying shiny syllables contained within this temporary body of work.

Unwound between moments of mindless shuffle and sorting of the material, I lay down the lines with your hand on mine, my dear reader, to determine the adventure and where it goes.

Allude to a secret lover? Add a plot twist? Betraying the audience is to betray the critic? Whatever. Embrace where you want it to go.
In life, there is no structure or script.

Find our parallels within the infinite calculus and may God's Speed catch up to us, for to find everything, and everything that ever was, will be, will never be, and what is, not when, we will certainly go where we have never been.

To reach acceptance in the distance of the self from perfection.
To reach the fulcrum and find out what can or will become of this.

Such a beautiful mess.