Nothing
read
clearly through
the warped
glass structure
that I crafted
to contain
this earth
this season.
All I want
is
outside
my footprints
quickly fading
as
the
seaweed soaked chemicals
reduce their
carved out form.
A new pattern
creases the sand.
It
Lines
the inevitable
constant shifts
of wrath,
of fear,
of peace.
Seems
the face
is worth
exactly
nine thousand
and sixty two
dollars.
But is it
really so?
Art will be hidden where I see fit.
Seek it.
1. City bound.
2. Logan square.
3. Taste what is bitter, taste what is sweet.
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