a little more like it

Sunlight pours into the town. My crescendo catches a beat before the refrain. I am yet to spark, but flicking matches. Holding them close between finger and thumb.

There are trails that lead off into scrubland. Unchartered. Some rainbows desire more than gold. Some talk show hosts don't know how to listen.

We rely on paradox to speak the truth.

I have not been as articulate as I could be. But I have been swimming in the foglands for week. And I have just dragged my carcasses through five kinds of revelation before breakfast.

I'll be back in a sec....