Leeward lean into the winds of time caught in the doldrums of collective foolishness and disregard. Harmed only by expectations and the perceptual misunderstanding accepted as norm from those who would engineer science. Answer to the call of tomfoolery’s whistle charmed against the rocks of scion sea. Why tarry in the daydream or polish up the nightmare, regarding each in their abject poverty to muster up explanation from disregard? What days must be punished to produce regard for the missteps taken? What leverage must we locate and apply to stop our boots in the solemn mud of self preservation?

There are no dreams beyond what we feel. There is no pleasure in the reluctant attempts at retardation of spirit’s whim. Fall to and find in harmony the voice of collective image. As we look through dirty glass, taking our sleeve freshly moistened with spit to find our way in the dim lit dust of this desert wandered. There are no cake walks, no pastry tours no trips to the reservoir of greenery. Only the dry sullen lake calling all to its depths bidding all turn from the possibility of miracle and beg reinstatement in the world’s noisy bosom. No taper, no customization, no courage or consideration only stark visits to the dirtied tit of temporary provision.

Where shall the next round be played as the syrup and lush candied roadways disappear in the forgotten horizon. All turn to pray upon spiritual incarnations to deliver us to something without fear, toward love when we know not the gist of our own understanding. Rampant palsied cries for resolution as the party turns to nonsense and all reach for arguments they’d once heard preached in the parlors of passed acquiescence. Our lights dimmed we adjusted our caps to capture the moonbeams and starlight of impassioned reason. What leading magnificence promises the hope of straightened pathways and cleared passage beyond midnight and the scary sands of time’s passing? Hopefully beset in doubtful measure we plod on toward the mere mention of signs, measure and wonder.

Inclined to believe but not through hearing and obedience but by promised of billboard reliability and marketing. Believe in what may pass the gullet, that which sits long upon the stomach, not the high minded promises of stellar reason. The stairway calls feet forward, escalating all though to literal mention. We must be high in mind, low in caution and absent contemplation to wander haplessly in to the hand of chaos. Pent to apply purpose to those things which randomly fall from the trees and treasures of turmoil. Our regard spent we loaf leisurely to find a seat at the edge of storm, rain or fire idlily reflecting upon our luck at being touched by the whimsical finger of fate.