inside the ebbing yolk of the universe,
rapidly losing hold,
and the thinning shell all around is fixing to burst,
stuck by a dwindling cord,
rotating inside of a nucleus,
tossing and turning,
stretching those hands and feet,
unboxed and benighted, the exergonic process unfolds.
i believe in your depth of being,
here sits a mandolin parsing out the thin layers of innumerable dimensions,
then organizing them into logical sections,
and calling each section a different illusion of time.
i believe in your power.
i believe in your potential.
i honor the masterpiece you've made.
do you understand? you must do as you love,
for this making is not juvenile,
but intricate, delicate, and hand-woven.
please do it again when you have the time.
this is my favorite art to see.