The ac rattles, I lean back into myself and think about bad lighting, what an affront it is to every sensibility. The noise of the day's doesn't seem to wash clean.
Dry lighting strikes southbound. I wonder about all of it. The entrapments, entanglements, enchantments coconspire and leave me flaberghatsed.
Write them out all of them and think about them daily: the manifestos the constitutions, the proclamations; dreams, glimpses, knowings.
What is this human thing? This having a body and being here, now of all times, all about?
I listen to effervescent bubbles against a glass of sparkling white wine and thunder.
Ask better questions; answers are less significant.
Right now I am wondering if the house of cards I've crafted is stable. And the thunder rolls.
It's dawn, past dawn, rain is falling, my heart is revived. 
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