Hate altered. 
 
So we’ll carry on. We can’t do better. 
 
True physicality fills our minds on other matters even as  
Our faith hangs down to the ground in a sensibly mixed fellowship. You can’t throw self consciousness out. It helps, after, there’s a mating dance to appreciate what we are stalking — working on it.   
 
There’s animal hustle, along with cargo rips in funnels of spacetime where uppermost thoughts burgeon in ennobling, blobby warmth... yours, I think, accompanied by our addiction to uncertainty.   
 
Come here often?