From the Top

Taken in from the top, everything else looks down and out, but the best way to get here from there is to wait until you catch up with yourself and see who arrives first. Tie goes to the rumor. I surround my ambitions with a yawn and prepare for the next available moment (after the current one), time travel notwithstanding in the (perpetually evaporating) rain of my every day dreams for a better tomorrow in spite of yesterday’s misfunctions. The crowding transitions keep my hesitation from broaching anything more radical than a mid-morning snack, but I bite off the substance of freedom, chew over the implications of lateral intent, ruminate on a better way of strife, swallow my pride, digest what comes to my attention and generally get a belly full of short-changed inspiration just in time for lunch. Close call. Slow day at the okay corral. Round up your posse and ride like the dust that blows through the sweep of your mountain stone mind, like a rock. Here come the good guys and there goes the neighborhood out the back door, down the alley, into the streets of lost and found angels looking for a better way to share a smile.
     Writing as fast as the images and words flow from the fingertips of my digitally active mind to the walls of your never changing mend (substitutions abound) of the way you would like to see what it is that holds your breath between each and every straydream nightcap, I hide under the light wait precipitation of impending eventualities, like a puddle. I offer relief in the form of a cloud, you hold clouds in the arms of your clear blank eye between the motion of reading and the sub-stance found therein, while the weather makes out just find in the loss of something else to lose. All reality is conditional, all perception is subjective.

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