from time to time will I stare directly into the face of the moon and imagine myself at the bottom of a well. a charming well, though pallidly dark and a scent of bromine; there lies life far below the veil of light so obscene.
a buoyant mystery.

from time to time will I stare directly into the myriad of stars and imagine each one as baroque needle ****** within a sunken black canvas. an extravagant canvas. constellation of blemishes, an unhinged art. each blotch it’s own name, to set them apart.
a shimmering reverie.

these are the gifts that call to me.
persist enduringly.

be well,
bcb