always understood
this distance from “it could”
on a table made of stone
on legs of soft wood
wasted beauty feared
a sun covered in the clouds
but if you look into those forms
no light appears through self inflicted storms
under the fettered moon
I spun a web and climbed above
all the notions that left me blinded
then it opened up
so I sat there and crashed there
and felt so lawless and flawless
in a diner I found fate
winding barber straws ‘round a plate
of consciousness stored plainly as I played
it was a story of a world
tied and bound by it’s own gate
restoring glory as it chose
perfect fables beautifully delayed