state of the art

The sky is turning gray, and the moon can’t wait to burst through the blue. Albedo bright and heavy as a bucket of bricks, the swell impels the bowing tides. The whole of the ocean, pressed between the folds of bunched space, livid with the spell. We stagger and step, we bend and we sway. We dance our reels, we sing our part. This is the dream of waking. The first forest and the fork in the road. Our souls only how we set the  stars.

This is the light that beckons from your bedroom. This is the goddess rubbing the ash from your eyes. The long song, the urge past purpose. The moon so full of stolen shine. Not the power but where you put it. The sleeper within awakens. You open the window as if in asking. Not the prayer but the path, asking for your answer. The language of velocities.

Loose your tongue because you’re magic. Count your breaths because a watched clock is always in the works. Delve alone in your glory and your anguish. The tattered letters and worn through words. The halls that fill with shadow as you get the inkling that you’re not alone. This world submerged in storms of hush,  all at once the wonder of the looming moon.