ever expanding

inside the ebbing yolk of the universe,

rapidly losing hold,

and the thinning shell all around is fixing to burst,

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stuck by a dwindling cord,

collapsing inwardly,

rotating inside of a nucleus,

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tossing and turning,

stretching those hands and feet,

unboxed and benighted, the exergonic process unfolds.

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i believe in your depth of being,

here sits a mandolin parsing out the thin layers of innumerable dimensions,

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then organizing them into logical sections,

and calling each section a different illusion of time.

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i believe in your power.

i believe in your potential.

i honor the masterpiece you've made.

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do you understand? you must do as you love,

for this making is not juvenile,

but intricate, delicate, and hand-woven.

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please do it again when you have the time.

this is my favorite art to see.

​

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