The limitless game, bred from legions of craned necks, would have this mean something. Have the stark interplay of tangled shadows suggest destiny, breathing, the reach for something untouchable yet forever enticing. Looking for meaning from the sky haunts the sullen and inspires the joyous; yet it’s the flaked shavings of science, excess on the wood shop floor once lumber’s fashioned. The low drone of the God question, the arrogance of a personal canvas, the tired dive into infinity: it’s chipped away from the larger craft of Nature’s sublime indifference. Good for us. Let’s find lovers in the sky and spin headlong the romance of day. Empirical evidence is for those seeking pearls from oysters. The muse whispers of treasure lying more in the taste of the brine, the full mouth glee and song spread deep inside that creates curl toe craving. It’s not a fool that daydreams, but a master at life. Let the hours coalesce and bend eagerly like the white-bruised blue above; hope on chance winds and delicious undoing in each shade cast.
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