Rowel me, tenacious traveler, as you will, but the key to passing this checkpoint has not been met–still.”

“Yes, what lies ahead is quite out of this world if not exosolar.”, says I, a most stringent toller.

“You may have a findy influence, for sure. Away from this post, though, you will not this steadfast self lure.”

“Perhaps, in other multiverse, your attempts might break through–the ship for that fantasy leaves here at two.” ; )


Grey and barren: arduous could be the reinvention of self.

Who dares plant here both light and life? Your hope that gelid foundations can support warmthful presence may be, indeed, hamartia.

A penny for the thought that this will endure bribes not satangs from each bright devout to her.

Some still attempt iatrochemistry in spite of modern truths preferred. Success lives not as result, but as the sincere try to resolve and uplift. : )


Where are the notes that were supposed to checker this white-washed idea bubble? Did their ikigai send them eastward? Even songs of emptiness cannot be played without a key.

Eyes emit fantod, hoping sympathy might merit return of a melody to its proper place–soothing the space under ruffled bangs.

Ivories, motionless, have no pressure upon themselves. Silence cut with a scramasax would be welcomed with ready fingers; this heart is bleeding for inspiration.

Blooms of blouse inked. Blooms of garden watered and sunned. When will blooms of mind appear? Patience may wear into tensify, but devotion will aware into versify–and, the bouquet will play. ; )

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