The eagle that stoops and then swoops,the marching of troops,the banks that recoup what they lend,the end of the line where what's yours becomes mine,the beginnings of time,the primordial slime that drips down on the naked,sublime may occur,though not here over there where the air is still ****** and pure.
This is not cure for a trust that I placed,stone will not rust before faith turns its face and looks out on displacements with vacant expressions,compressed in a moment an hour becomes flea like,a bug to be rid of,a firefly slides off the edge of the light in the night of no mention when water retention sparks wars and inventions makes ****** out of minds that crack questions they find and pick out the kernels,
internal relations,contraptions contracting first contacts relaxing the spans of the worm holes through strung theory portals,
and all of me mortal and just dying to know, where do dreams come from and where do they go?