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.