the doors are not perception.  just locked.
i have no keys but the random is not assuring
and all my rainbows have no narrative
only letters from dead gods
and little else.

the bar is closed now.... and the sun is foreign and In Your Face.
we have our wounds to deal with… and nothing else ~
but how a cluster ***** when a dank star collapses.
i’m nothing else.
and that’s Wit.