I threw it

over and over and over again

Across the concrete portico

Until it worked

Backside up, glimmering ash

All that death

Pretty albums of retold faces

Cold type rapping in a digital breeze

What is there inside of this Instant transmission but a story you tell yourself and others listen, reward your delusion

I want colored lead and real big paper, a song on the lips and one yet unsaid, conscious cellular communication, feet on the ground pinecone from the head

Awake you

The coming is now+