being a world and not being in one is a hard scale to balance,
because balance is a ghost sniffing butterflies
that have once flown but are now pinned under glass windows,
still in the act of trying to fly, maybe through time, but probably not,
for the flowers still need pollinated, but this is their charge, to be in hell pinned
to a board while the ******* flowers need pollinating errr….

Who will pollinate these flowers? asked the lady.
Me, said the ghost

But only in a way that the past makes of me, said the ghost

You’re a gas, said the lady.