Words, no more than the pixels of the sky reflected off retina
the light years of distance between yesterday and tomorrow
yesterday exploded spectacularly, today it twinkles composed;
tomorrow it burns though the atmosphere to but a small stone
that hisses upon damp impact, to the pit of a cramped belly,
grows a vine and tangles splintery a chicken wire meshed mind,
all the composite shapes of an abandoned hive, winter worn
warm of vitality dripping still, cerebral fluid, thin but equally sticky.