artificial doesn’t mean not Real .
passions are self-crafted.
we are self-drafted_

is

we linger
in those fuzz-****** images of
Home.
we take off, rocket-wise, and at heart-fast velocities
into the gathering pools of time
like lamp-centric product placement in the moth-saturated marketplace sector
like film
over whatever’s left in the glass
when you’re
done
i’ve  decided not to be
i’ve decided to swallow what once hunted
us
Here .

is a flyswatter kind of love.and i am the unread newspaper pages wrung out before the casualty of your tightening/grasp.

[balance the world with your heart]