Therein does the majesty of existence fill my heart.
Words re read.
Albums relistened to before the w/hole becomes the sink/ing w/hole.
Words whispered as memories forgotten but felt like meteoric impact
striking land surface.
We are many.
They are few.
And, you likely misunderstood.
Recollection of the woods of a mill creek coupled with a salmon’s ladder,
no longer used.
Not you; but, but who I used
A joke named Syd Arthur reduces me to my knees.
Hesse and Mann.
And, me with determined purposelessness.