in the end we all return home an atlas, to flee pillagers plunder fifty percent bell and jar a knight in shining armour, a hyena to tremble that rusty matte silver sign points at us a spire, a circus chase me in animation frames i stole a rock from under our home and with lick and lust watch it grow tens of hundreds of miles away
a soul and it's mate follow; a piano and a voice squeeze the air between two fingers two threads brush against blades of grass two bodies contour in a lift two opposites pass on a train a man and a woman glance up from their scrolls take a plane, hide from plain view a lesson is to toil