Just smell any swamp in repose. So many paths are beckoning that I'm at sea with confusion. At sea is a good place to be beneath millions of stars, each at one time bewildered but now guiding your journey. I feel that I may be ready but the teachers appearing seem prophets eyeing their profits, unschooled in even honesty. A yesbeam can brighten doubt when droll is mixed lightly in.
Gold turns gold into more gold leaving little breath for seeing.
Painting a ceiling invisible makes the room rollick with sky. Be liberal with stars of give. Now people yawn at roses by dozens, pretty weeds to eyes that won't see. All roads in await. Dark in your trap shared with moths you cry long past dry and choke on all why.