Theirs was is a blatanttakeon an almost obviousrefuted past -'It won't last..'And so it becomesa silent game ofa la carte signalslost in space -not fo..
We limp through lifeshawled in nonchalanceavoiding the pitfallsfrost et alslabs right, slabs leftthistles growing fromimperfections nudgingto benotice..
Ignore the strange sadness of idiosyncrasyinstead ~place it lovinglygentlywhere sharp edgesrub soft their being .. ..reminiscent areperhapsofpebbles '..