Open your ears to the dead beat,
Open your eyes affixed to the wall,
Open your mind to the ever-flowing ether,
Open your heart so one might hear the call.

To the wild, arcane, gilded centurions,
To the ambient, intangible outcomes,
Enfolded in the very fabric,
We trudge across, frolic and sway.

Almighty pendulum of surrender,
flickering on the lake beset before us,
A sea, an ocean, the vacuum of space.
Dark; the color that mows the harvest