Everything outside comes from within
False peaches smell wonderful
Arms and clarity lock in a cracking window
Moments live again and again
Wild netted emotion emerges
A magnetic killer in dreams behind grins
A compass swinging to absent warmth
Can they be bright enough?
Options rain down their clouds
What sense is there in ladders?
Thought a room of dusty planets
What is there to pick up is what is there is to be found
As it waits the patterns shift
Left alone in the universe when the doors close
A faded impression of simple bliss
The trust gained from windstorms and post-mortem terminals
A thousand meetings barely remembered
The fool and his shaky knife wandered off
To the way out as he came in.
–Jack Blare
jblareink 