Blaring webs weaving still
Skeins of purpose vehicle past time unconcious
Wrinkled awareness hoods each one as they stretch from A to B,
Motion is misshapen as progress--repeating is the main strength.
What do you carry, racing uphill in the sandy glass?
Is it used weapons...a broken glare from the other lane...
a brake bent path skid mark of the mind...or tossed gestures smearing down the wall?
The holding on rips energy, yet pretense mocks natural.
Listen carefully, the one with the peanut butter wins.
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