Small tragedies – they are here, ripple effect on the senses – some gather over time. Presentations appear.
if tears could melt the fire, could they?
I suppose I would rather go downhill – yes for the ride – the bottom has walls.
If I can find a vein river of mother’s tears to ride along now.
Earth’s embrace on littleness creations.
The one there with carbon steel, petrified hair, standing on road turds – flattened to fly on, leaving all behind.
