spirals of laughter respire through heaps of overflowing salamander gills while
arcs of colorized upside-down cameos knot together, into olive vines, not
unlike the herbal rewards you read on a stash tea tab gracing the front of your journal that through free-association, comes
as you pass a green metal fence over an interstate overpass and the sign
that tells you where you may want to go. we are everywhere,

you say that it says, and this is space. it appears as nothing,
but you feel full. this is human, you say. and time is your perception,
just perception. and that is all,

like time. concentric circles pick up with the wind, conforming to the geometry
of your brittle cheek bone and knee skin, and paradoxically penetrating the seams

of your microfiber knit pants. you pick up a leaf in the shape of a bat
and we animate it, making its wings flap. it's a toy, you say, knowing the god that
has penetrated all microfibers. and it's free, the toy, and sustainable, made from one-hundred percent recycled organic fibers.

are we in a vortex, you say, and we receive an answer: yes, and it is free. this is what it is. and we are children.