Amaze, the idea that we are all as comparably mad as me.
The branches, the tributaries, the veins, the circuits,
The fiber thin leading to ribald moments of motherlode.
I me and mine, as the beats well said.
Tonality, timing, touch and the tarnished glow tucked away.
I know each face in the elevator is falling up or down.
I know we hide.
I know the fray, the knot, the tensile strength variable of the equation.
I take it all and I give it away.
Strange stranger stranded.
The strand, the wayward, the weird.
Old English rhythms still play and we're all still fighting the beast.
We believe in monsters, because it makes us heroes.
And I haven't shoes, just blues, and purplish green.
I breathe, flee and mean.
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