neverland wakefullness in rabbit hole dreams
amid a sequence of mirrored glass in the vain
city, watching raindrops fall on delicate tongues
curled like pink mementos of true speech. The
early morning brought us instincts that talked
in verbs, and the afternnon brought some delicate
architect to the cathedral of the heaet.
But where we lay tonight is not the lion's den
nor the scattered vespers of the moon's silent dreams.
we lay in dirt, we lay on stone, we lay in what
the ignorant could not call a home, but merely
ourselves, our quiet selves silently moving
randomly through labyrinths until the exit is clear,
silently ever warrenting our creations of sleep.

remember the rhyme in the ember that frictions
it to such a billowing fire, remember this side
of Jupiter to send more letters out into the
veldt of urban miasma convulsing, contracting,
and expanding like a writhing storm of concrete
asphalt and glass.