governed by that existential factor. unrelentingly
precise, the logistics are laid out in symbiotic perfection,
the white chalk blatantly deliberate on the blackboard.
there is no room for life between these reasoned lines.
the muse is in the loose wirings, the broken mind
that bleeds in color; those who see the motive in the logic’s lie.
beyond this spinning sphere, our combined weight is holding
down the clouds, we have willed our bodies skyward to purge
ourselves of air, because up here we breathe sunlight.
