Outside this reticulum, I love myself. Desert Oblique A convection of voices. I mime their desert in my foxhole. Mindful of my schematics, my electrical grid. Sun to make the voices diverge and swell.
White bedclothes hang undulant in song.
The keeper is a tree of bleached bone. The horizon a book of voices of bone. The people are dancing. Dancing and swirling at the ecstasy pulpit.