Temperate. With a focus always on.
Echoes of heartbeats fainter. Listening for the way the sunlight
makes a smell like a gastronomic painter. Over analysis means
doubling back on yourself as a way of singling out. Generally
speaking, I can't account for everything but what counts is
convenience. Unlock me with a memory. Steal my identity, my
magnetized strips of faculties. Staccato stars, unravel me.
It's easy isn't it? It'd better be; a
better being, another breath in another mouth. Mind the way the
convenience store never seems to indicate emptiness. Is it a binary
construction or can it just stay alive somehow in the fickle passage
of artificial air and time? You keep restocking it, why? This is
the hardest part of your fluorescent machine, gaseous and radiant,
the frozen heart of yourself burning blackly.
Look around you. Let the ground
beneath you be the ground for your electric attention. Shock it with
your walking and keep at it through the ways the sunlight breaks on
shadows and their walkers. There is more to a healthy diet
than the nutritious crunch of artificially preserved freshness,
juices sliding sticky all over your face. Drink the local brew;
collected from its rivers' waters and its ageless mountains' herbal
furs. They offer the convenience of shade. They'll quench your homesick thirst.
