A sudden juxtaposition of thoughts are solidified:
Maybe I am petrified.
-fear is the flash quaking every crack
A smooth slate of a foolish mind and there cannot be a further projection.
Patterns are abstract, like the tackles of rocks I’d like to kick against the rail road tracks to the moon and back
And, then, within the chest cavity there is grey matter breathing any which way but fluent
Even as a rock, the past life gets the best of me…