You can't possibly still trust paper to guard the body from a million tiny shards of mirror reflecting bright lights over smooth skin just waiting to be seen and sin. Clinging glasses dripping with dark juice conjuring the queen of old French folklore, lost in the modern haze of digital distraction.

On second thought, this paper holds up surprisingly well, now imagine a field setting the perfect winter backdrop suddenly possum tails. You stumbled wants over nothing the rest must be the drinking. Now watch closely this brilliant band of sleepy foxes associating things connected loosely to similar but clearly different things.

You know what, maybe just cease being for a minute or check your text messages whatever comes naturally. Tommy turns then turned away luckily by the end of the week everyone will lose another lossless 7 days.

This is endless whiskered theater, grab a bucket of history and heave it at the last holdout for making better choices... Who but us would have thought mirrors and paper protecting our next best guesses.

Has the any wonder passed,
I only ask to fill the gaps
Give in any more or less,
I only hope and hope to guess
Something any holding on,
My only stars to wish upon
Float as any thoughtless care,
I only drift from here to there
Reason any we can gain,
I only rise to ease the rain

I might search for the horseman's healer
He appears when the need is greatest
I lack nothing in the world surrounding... But I lack myself

I gave everything I could think to give, a future's full of expectation and a few random suggestions
I lack no bit of imagination... But I lack myself

I fill a home for her to return, it's not your everyday stray cat situation
I lack no meaningful level of comfort... But I lack myself

I clearly articulated three descending metaphors and the healer is yet to show
I lack nothing more than you, dear reader... But I lack myself

the wonder we witness when water pours
over the head and into the soul
we seek the holy and purest of joys
the youth of wisdom the ages of fools
stand and witness the cleansing refrain
wash over our eyes and into the heart
the rush of spring distilled into liquid
where form and fullness awaken the day

Layers, lifted veiled or gifted, I abide the climbing frame
Greyer, jilted hope is stilted, by and by a rhyming came
Player, plenty a pen/a penny, all the riches richly choose
Mayor, mention golden pension, sit alone and saintly lose

Ladder, leading homely pleading, up and down and back again
Fatter, fated over waited, on the table glass of gin
Gladder, giver heart a liver, all inside for outer sheen
Patter, pity light the city, gritty ****** call it clean

Cover, clotted twicely blotted, white-out for a paper new
Lover, linger point the finger, saying them and meaning you
Hover, heated mother pleaded, visit just for one more day
Subtle, suited aptly rooted, unassuming still the change

Subtlety was not his strong suit
So he strutted naked into battle...

We mourned him for a day or two,
Until the news gave us something less difficult to process.

With voices crowding and noise you may sit alone
allow the stillness to creep in through the halls and corridors of an almost never present awareness.

Here there is little more to consider
Feel time
Perceive space...
but know nothing,
only to find that this is the fullness of every man.