ever expanding

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,

collapsing inwardly,

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.