There is a nothing. Yet nothing is forbidden.
Or a burst of daft tone substitutes for sunlight.
I lower your voice to closest approximate parity.

Finalists quit general practice — re-up for industry with no honor system.
Actuaries unmoor. Affection looks like vicarious advice. Vicarious isn’t strong
enough. Inner, outer merge in our skulls, an emotional syndrome that’s broken

down, yet a lost cause. I’m driven somewhere then by love
to sketch sweet totems that “look pretty close” with my eyes closed.

There’s transactional friendship, as well. It’s a slog like sloganeering or craft (flashing an observable sign to consciousness). To postulate, craft is to slogans as sport is to kicking down signs (see above). Don’t get me yakking about today’s news. Uncertain, odd sounds are cool, and we’re all for them and against impingement unless they mess up our transactions.