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enday

in medias res we had our inception. in a radius, meshed, came each new conception.

the middle of things is in, as seen when what once surrounded is swallowed—and as much, when the flavor of a flower’smoke is followed. in a desert captured to measure time, neither hungry nor heavy with sleep, a building’s lung becomes a door between the captors and their keep.

what’s built below affects the castled sky, whose measure’s meted out by bravery’s brea[d]th. those who make a living in the margins round the manmade mounds deal as much in derision as in death. a funeral becomes more than a burial because barriers are broken; there’s a skill to skirting the skin of decision, where spontaneouspells are spoken.

both progressive and coextended, the exponents of emotion mingle; they linger long after their moments are ended. so the chaser after change sees how risk is a[r]range[d]; those who see only shape and shade miss out on the meanings some greens might have made. the runner surrounded in the river must feel a fulfillment, immediate as a meal caught hot and fresh from dreaming. an odyssey of admiration succumbs to a snare in song of slowness shared with sea’sighed seeming.

over wing and under moon, sea-trunk and tree-shore dance; a ghostrain rush, a spiritrial, calls for strength to counter steam with stance. the ri[si]ng of heat held in sap[ient] spires lets them thrive in driving cold. the decisive discover the design of desires: revenge is a wish best served bold, like all humble hopes of the heart. that’s why vandalism in the name of virtue is called art.

prophecy is sensed in sound, saintliness by sight. what mediates the two in mind is freeing to we who find a feminine feline flare in the glare of day’s first light.

equalled not in weight, but burden of [f]ire, two stones balance on judgment’scales. three halves make he who’ll never tire of telling his own tales—while to she who length of life has left less limber than before, a mother in her middl[if]e is warming to the core. and in a civilization so far turned from thatranscendence, going bare-skinned and blacked-out are our first steps to independence.

do these threads make the fabric, or their path through the holes? can leylines be drawn inbetween all these poles?

the sandune and the lion, the river and the reed. the letter and the lover, the knowing and the need. what binds any pair is the world they share; a fountain of fables, a phrasing of air. why is a raven like a writing desk? in same way the graceful is like the grotesque. for the ends are the means to me[ri]dian’s mode, and every real journey’s less refuge than road.

a day’s life, a day’s work, the travel from dawn to dusk. this is the distance, in time and place, from heaven down to husk—or the other way around. as all days adjoin by night, so fortune in the fearful’s not far to be found.

however divisions may be devised, evereunion one day will return. until our next encounter, then—for tonight, we now adjourn.

Published indjourney