If it wasn’t for one sun and one moon, we would never have believed in one god. How much verification do you need. Both of them walked around us so naturally we thought they owned the joint. Old wives tale. Never heard of an old fathers tale but who am I to judge fathers on their storytelling prowess when I ain’t never been one. I lived on the fifthteenth floor of a building with eighty-nine floors. The eighty-ninth floor wasn’t a floor I could ever get up to and even if I could I wouldn’t want to be up there with the organ knotters, making due with all the knowledge locked up in the sea. Poof, gone with a light wind out of the east that is the perfect refresher for the springtime heat. Blow me sky. Blow me. 

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Prophets are all around. Lock them up. Make sure they do not speak any kind of unnecessity that isn’t in the fucking rule book. Rocks are collected now. A justification of time, of pressure, and of something that existed before and will exist beyond. I wonder about the times that circle around our time. I wonder if there is enough time to share. Makes sense to want to watch us all, funny things require audiences that can comprehend funny. I will walk someday, upwards, where life doesn’t seem so hard once you reach it. I grabbed for a snickers bar the other day, not knowing where I was or how much it cost, and I got told that wasn’t my property, as if I hadn’t been the one to discover the chocolate deep in the jungle that day. Rockets will come next, just wait. The mushrooms, the forest floor, all this decay at the bottom of our feet never freaked us out before, but now the grass is the thing that makes the man squeamish at the sight. Archers, one hundred yards, fire. Dead bodies laying at your feet and then you tell stories. We don’t get stories under all this green, we get them under all this brown. 

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