Written by ©Mitchell Pluto August, 23 2021
Four word 30. It is always a half.
Two more points reflect 6, 9 and back to a hidden 3 again.
The clock hands do not hold the numbers.
The zero is an egg without pressure or surface.
Four words drift by.
Pleasure, pain, value and waste.
A cross, a star, an intersection, a direction.
The world arduously spins a square into a diamond.
You, me and us.
Skin wrapped tight together and then loose again.
Two spheres merge a chime into a flower.
A room with rounded corners.
An elevator opening each floor to each ceiling.
An elemental spine, Damballa and Ayida.
Evening and day.
One tile with a pressed line between.
A folded roof.
A house under the waves of a patient moon.
We are wake with weightless vision.