statues turned to dust an insect flew up to the sky the clocks lost their hands the shores cracked, dry here I’m split open the purple heart of a fig ventricles atriums capillaries and such still waters are running deep but not necessarily wide the epics of my life are revisited carefully self-aware canyons of push and pull with eyes that open inwards like question marks stunned even before the blow and everyone knows unless you’re Spanish question marks come at the end of a sentence flung far, far past cloud nine (to 14 or 15) the air grew thin and the ground was ever so far away seated alone on a train with enough secrets left for me to feel safe Night had cancelled all the scenery outside my window laid some potent spell of sleep on everyone around me I entertained the perverse guests of thought and reason played chess with Self-Love prayer #1: someone around here must know what’s going on