The environment he now finds himself in, how he is unable to leave by simple refocus. The Night Stars. How to defy subjectivity, the things that come to be. Taping ourselves up, with massive thick plastic, transparent masking tape. Stretching our mouths to its shape.
Blues enter every where, shimmers, and symbols of perfection with nothing left to do but perfect.
And we count our imperfect breaths. Green in the face of stars.