Septum dark in the inner sea. Forgotten espers keeping the binding of the manuscript sealed. Welkin for deux. Walk on the line to Fate Reigns. Never sees the outer reach of the machine he’s inside. Later emblem du nails the whole stitched scene. Emblematic of embers off a coal cracked up into the dark cold night air. Whole beams of moonlight come down and rapturously swathed. Dreams I am the man obsessed with shapes and structures. Who writes about the incompetence of being alive and not seeing these things. Seeing these things only slightly enough to be considered alive. Waiting wars with the rest of the people in the room. For the door to open and the next one to walk through. The eclipsed edge of the face of the woman speaking I imagine the camera’s lens warping round to come through and capture the semblance of from a side I can’t see. Cities of ionic warp energies making up buildings of growing shapes which only appear to be growing because we’re shrinking, going farther in now, becoming attuned. ¶ High beams the surface deleted. Incomprehensible moral dilemmas. Fortitude in the gust the wind pushing your body away from the shelter of the buildings you’re walking between. Sucked out of the ether. The spirit dissolved in static burbles the televisual snow going sea of rose in cathode ray tube. The armament to divide, to waste, to give me over to. Watch while the saint descends to tell me something I can’t remember afterward. I wish I could. Watch as the trash-bag boulder shoved out floats in the bog. Not to get driven to. But where we all within us while connected in a way depose the light for making images on our eyes. The surface of the sea of static snow flushed deleting the high beams of my car as I drive cutting through the darkness at high speed in the night. Watch as the high beams cut through. Tending to salvation the ever going over prescribed floor falling forward meeting your face as time bends. Watch as the syntax warps and becomes you. Watch as the scene shifts and a thousand days a thousand nights pass while you look catatonically out a window through the center of a single sunset. Watch as night becomes day becomes night again and everything halts and we falter and the floor meets our face. Too for you the dreams you had where an engine made you work with the crew you were the elder of to deliver life somewhere. Having to space out the infinite perils having to wait out death. Watch as the sun calls it curfew. Only one only a million-million ones coming unfolded into the wake of the everlasting gorge watch as the sight recedes and all is black again. The verso of birth the being born again, the need to deliver life somewhere. Inherent to the heart of the mind. The way that nothing goes quite as well as you hope but then what did you really hope for? Getting always exactly what you want. In the sense of lacking. Despite the change in everything you can touch always going on.