So shall we live.

Physicality on the ground dwells in our thoughts even as
Ghosts roam with panicked ants. You can throw them out. It’s like a dance to respect what we were doing — we were working on it.

There’s body hustle, along with rips in the cargo of space~time where your thoughts burgeon in ennobling, blobby warmth from sweet love, accompanied by addiction to risk.

Come here often?