I might not belong here; but I must have something to tell that cannot be explained; and that is just it; something to force out which assumes to almost evaporate in me again and again like it is not even there…

I awoke here in the summer of 91, into a scene raged from some homebound ride; by a long sweeping arc; an empty grave but quaked; the disintegration, the gradual slanted ancient swirled skirts of smooth leather gripped my penetration; oh ho, but I bent loose in them physical silver slivers, slid along quicksilver as the energy sparked; and just conquered the momentum of the earth, then caged jabs brawled alone in one entire swipe at space to get out of it and reached for the pillows. And I am but here.

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