Destiny, fate, whatever you want to call it, has nothing in common with a straight line. I didn't see it because it was right in front of me the book I searched the house for now I can't remember why I was looking for it in the first place. Sometimes I feel like I'm the newspaper on the floor that the cat always finds to perch upon. I magine time as a checkerboard with each square a time frame of a century or an era but none contiguous to sequence, and then add another dimension. Don't look for the obvious, but don't be surprised when it is.
Plants are blind to everything but our love.
Disconnected or unconnected, doubtful word behavior. J uice or water will do. Poetry is a necessity not an affectation. Tiny black specks swarm over cold kitchen tiles, warmer than outside to them. I create the anxiety of too much time on my hands, room to room each as empty as I am alone.