For What Its Worth

Mindfull of a parallel sequence we seem to function light between thought and hurt hoping for easy advancement up the channel steps-- pecarious invoking with someone who knows--- and not knows inescapable from ourselves compliant (fraud) if need not be. Backwash of hidden intermittent terrors preclude external sensitivities---like my aching back heat waves of generalized dizziness and gender--izing. The sweet bird of youth never suffers a jet lag stupor as we enjoy and (softly) murmur the last rungs in a flaccid present tense loss of self faculty. But the nevertheless picture of realitivity lends a jargon journal future sometimes nameless but (at least) omnidirectional happenstance.