in some oft-predicated corner of the story. we pedaled in opposing
and in fact conflicting fashion until the ceiling caved in. I held on to the
directions for too long before I recognized you in an unfiltered speck of

the key. ringing, truly, with more hesitancy than a red dress on a
red evening. we are specks, key rings, palm trees with shallow roots, a
newly emerged, emerging winged insect. it ties up your

already twisted tongue in a knot it might take a lifetime to
braise. we hatchet through the widest of thickets to purge the rest of our
disentanglements, though our entanglements might be the best thing about us

until you count the
smaller mountains
overwhelmingly high
and horizonless, boundless
incidents of color