all is devoured by the garden. i am content to bear witness to the annhilation of the inorganic.
my appetite has returned, the heavens emulate my stomach. days roll by like thunder storms.
prone to excess, i mimic the contrast between wet and dry, vibrancy and grey scale. my heart has no anchor. i have no depth sounder. i am content to drift until running ashore.
in these sweet monsoonal moments i catch myself sighing. wondering at the spontenaity of cyclical change
