Dripping of the air conditioning as I excel through the corridor of light. Finding hope where none is lost.

Feeling self dignity where I last left my thought.

Freaking people out, the words and sounds amiss.

Fashioning a vertical horizon of yawning desperation.

Formulating a timeless capsule of creativity.

Freaking a minor fifth inside my head.

Fashioning a story to the end of dread.

Realizing that meadows call the open air their critical mass.

Where am I, Argentia, where are thou lost from record time.

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