There is a point from which to push off.
Listening to a degree - waiting for the moment of an acceptable notion.
The poised man’s actions - his rich resonant voice - palatially dark and turquoise.
Deep down you can find a way of existing, a double truth.
My fractured reasoning, inward dialogue, tripping on the stair that wasn’t there.
Pico de la Mirandola and the dignity of humans.
I’m lost in a desert of my own making.
Breath of air fools me into self conscious persecution, inevitable misplacement, running along under the music once more.
Thinking leads me to the appropriate condition of truth.