Only all the time is when you don't look at me. There is a time that things take, that take from you something we have tried to monetize. A soldier, a boot, a piece of cloth torn, rocks, brush, looking and not looking at what's in your peripheral. Isn't it time, you wonder, noticing there isn't a watch anywhere near your wrist. Figure me out. You have to look to figure me out. 

I say I believe in multiples and in patterns and in patterns and in patterns. You'll say you believe in rockets. Fuel does exist, we will say, but fuel can burn and so can we so does that make me fuel? It might, somewhere, when that special light is needed. You know, the elders used to burn us when they really needed to see what was in front of them. The light, they called it, and we believed them all those years. Once we made it to elder, though breathtaking, though an assumption, though time consuming, our understanding of the light was your understanding of rocket fuel. It burns. It costs money. It goes back to gas, from its liquid state. There wasn't much else to say. 

Happiness isn't over here. It exists in a squirrels balls, the size of the food they always get those tiny hands on. One squirrel ball can be held in the hand of two squirrel hands, multiples. You spend time on figuring out proportions, what looks good according to what someone says somewhere. I should have spent more time figuring out proportions based on what someone yelled at me. I always wonder, why our vocal range is so varied, why a bird can't whisper to me, why my dog can't tell me a secret and why she only yells all the goddamn time. Maybe it's all really important to them. Maybe they don't have time for secrets.

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