Are we making progress? Waning days away with the ticking of a clock like the dripping of a tap. Don’t hold too still, you might see it for it really is, losing sight between gaping empty spaces. Distraction and circumstance. No motivation for the finer things in life, the mundane is adequate, breathable. Do nothing but watch blue sky screams and flickering day dreams, draw birds with claws flying into the arms of loved arms, into the arms of home and the places we belong.
