It drifts as time moves
The concentration the same, the fluid stretched thin
Going from lake to creek
Same material
Different movement
Different shape
Reviving itself

Lakes compound stagnation
with benefits of submersion
with risk of drowning
Beware of drifting
a base deprived of sun

Creek is movement
Life is passed through
No depth
Traded for flow and conservation
Calming, no splashes
Feels white, Visible trenches
Gather your footing.

Time is key, purpose fatal
Each becomes the other
Only if the path is given
Evolution of matter
Calming of peril, Understood change

The muck of the chest
runs babbling through the ditches of skin and bone
Without this
Movement
Stops.

It all comes down to the point of sale
where will it take you
what will it say
will it last

the posed question -

Does functionality
mesh with enjoyment?​
Or will it lead to a return
to a life simpler, or more bare.
You choose.


His impressionable desire
lies within the visage of transaction
the tipping point
plagued by a facade or
impregnated with passion

A mix of both does the world fine
each art a separate truth
for a path beknownst to the two breeds.


When does it become known to all
without a ploy, truth dusted with smoke
The target no longer the focus
but the focus of mass involvement
in a movement so confidential

They gather to protest the knowledge sought.
Feeding the electrical color of the enemy
allowing for a dry flood to choke the air
keeping the gray alive.