where do i even begin? to point into five outward points is an idea that only translucent particles of nothing or everything can enjoy with real, unwashed hands. the glassy revery of daffodils
and powers of numbers stretch to an aether, a void worth unmentioning, unforgetting, reforgetting and rementioning. i say goodnight, even if we're already dreaming, and maybe the night might undo its amnesia.