christ alive, so am i.
i am otherwise dry compost
like becoming sand far from water
just sand resonating sand.
still the signals of consciousness are there
but far from complex growth or
helpfulness.

a stain, a mold, a t-shirt in a palace.
all things ductile, all things closely resembling hyper athletic celery.

we mirror amplifiers. constant alchemical gain undeniably transmitting unstable, uncertain, postmodern programming.

the devil is real.
existing in things like air conditioning and silicon. moving subtle through maple syrup and backsplash.
the devil is mycelial and plastic;
a beach of wet, burning relief;
a root system of universal, cosmo(logical/politan), terran and mythological cinema.
the devil is a pisces that smells like lemon rinds and rusty door hinges.

we live in a bottle
where we create our own weather.