You wonder,
ears curled in on themselves like hunched over drunkards,
when your art became objects.

The artifacts hang,
from frayed skeleton string,
stretched and whittled like string-bean veins.

Your hand itches,
like distilled water as thunder growls overhead,
and you know it is reaching for a pen.

No longer,
can you stare into the mirrored engravings,
and see fleshed out  words.

Scant nothings,
hum their prayers up into the sky,
but you do not follow.

There is,
time for you yet,
and art is not reality.

sandpaper smiles crinkle like foil wrappers in mellowed sunlight,
it burns a little but its as smooth as silk after a while.

puppets on the walls snarl with the nuisance of real ones,
beauty festers in their laser pointer eyes,
and my feet are cold.

Down in the belly of my beast
I slit my eyes
I key my teeth
Sharp, and thick, and fat, and creep
The walls are gum
Fade, and sluice, and slither on
My shoulders rise in prowling stance
I court the darkness for a dance
And whisper not, the final kin
For words are valueless
To the lost ilks of murk
And their leaded dogs

Little slips of lies
Never hurt a soul
Cradle pills of omission
And swallow them whole

The poet,
Notice how none call writer,
Notice how she does not call herself,
Notice how the poem plays on when she is gone,
Notice how poet does not recognise poem.

The poet,
Words do not make it so,
The rhyme and rhythm is secondary,
Speech is a privilege not a commandment,
Defined by inside not the pretence.

The poet,
Expression comes in many forms,
Of late night lunches and barely hidden smiles,
Grimaces painted like cold baritones in her chest,
Poetry is not what makes the poet,

The poet,
Is made of daisies,
Is curled 'round buttercups and beers,
Is twisted like fine wine,
Is mountainous drops of emotive chills,

The poet,
Is not alive,
Does not ask for forgiveness,
Does not read the grateful limericks,
Does not walk the line of truth and ignorance.

The poet,
Is an animal of freedom,
A whispered wisp of breath,
The closed eyes of the girl huddled to the fire,
Is tears upon his cheeks.

The poet,
Is not afraid,
Not a monster,
Not a hero,
Is only one.

The poet,
Nameless beast is she,
Forged from her sight,
Trees broken down to fight,
And holy mimicry.

Anger, it boiled under her skin like a furnace,
Blisters bloomed like flowers in crystal moonlight,
White pustules of burgeoning desire,
The desire, pulsing white hot behind her eyes,
Hate swirling in the depths of her soul,
Heart pounding as her dreams pulled thoughts of destruction.

So small, and innocent, and they had never done anything to her,
Pumping, day in, day out, taunting her with that sound,
Metronome, tick tock tick tock, her time was running out so...
Why bother?
Hate, flashed, fast furious and ugly in her lungs,
And she choked on it, words coming out jumbled,
A red flush bleeding across her cheeks in reparations,
Those voices in her heads, so cruel and wanting.

Guilt undulated like a smirking nemesis,
Laughing as she fell down down off into the deep,
Plummeting off the edge of the waterfall,
Clothes pulled tight against her bones, just like her skin, so tight,
Fragile,
Easy,
So easy
It would be so easy,
Hate roared in her veins once more, taking hostage the pounding of her heart.

Fear, easy to grasp, hard to get rid of, drenched her in cold sweat,
Drew pleading gasps from her torn lips,
Torn, like skin, pulled sharp and ragged, from her teeth,
Always talking, always biting she was, mellifluous words of torment,
They spilled like heavenly gospel from her bleeding lips,
Smearing ugly and smelly shame across her belly,
So easy to let it fill her, so simple to let it consume her.

But she fought.

For she would hate to let it win.

I am a reckless writer
I plan no poems
I throw myself
violent
hardy
head-first into the words
as the world roars around me
let them consume me
let my mind run

beautiful friend,
I hold memories in hand
a sunshine filtered emotionality
place to land
a sharing, a made peace
wishfulness and longing
hope, future fieldtrips
gifts abound
haplessly spiritual

I am allergic,
yet,
I keep coming back.

Most winsome,
most fresh,
appealing
so delicious
to the naked eye
and
naked flesh

gorgeous skin
that reaches
so far
not an inch
that is
not captivating
is not
alluring

so provocative
the stance
the eyes
the glow
the dimmed fire
the heat

so entrapping
let it linger on your tongue
let the taste remain
decadence at its
most
entrancing

the dance
the swing
the pull and push and shudder
lift her high
lift the disembodied
leg
up as you sway
let the dip
reach the tangled
ends of the
soiled floor
let grass leech up
grip tightly to your ankles
as you twirl
connected only
by the most
finite of toes

breathe,
honey badger,
through the nose
let the smell
waft
like summer winds
and winter rains
the sky blooms green for you
aurora aurora
'tis not science
but magic
evanescent in its passing
only a flicker in time

she holds the moon in her arms
it falls heavy like a babe's head
it murmurs against her hairy skin
her smile is not quite a smile,
but a charm,
it twinkles,
tinkles,
crinkles,
chimes and sings,
as the wind rubs against it
like warm farm hands

the callouses
have such candor
care for such softness
one would imagine that
it was not
only a visualisation
not only a whisper of the night
but tangible to be held

all you see,
is all you get,
and all you get,
is only half true.

i am grateful
for this
winding wending
second path

a clamped hold
as if
to let go
is to fall
indefinitely

this pressure
this hearty pulse
reminds me
of
how it feels
to be alive

i close my eyes
i pay my debts
i sleep until
all is returned
and
tomorrow, we feast
on the rewards
of carefully articulated
self care

take my money
take my house
take my husband
take my body
take my heart
take my life

just leave me my boy.

I am in love,
I say
as if
I know what that means.

Shame spits
on
my cheek
and I
let it.

I let
the door
open
for the monsters
and
now I
am sad that
they came.

Its
a crap
party.

Staring, casually, with equal amounts of obsession and gazing away,
Foot tapping under desks, with measured patience,
Eyes trailing over long hair and glasses,
Asking if she got the glasses fixed,
Smiling when she replies, and a conversation is struck.

Ignoring the books, a delicate balance of work and talk,
Laughing and remembering why she like her,
Spinning puns and irony into dark humour with a twist,
And perhaps staring at her lips too long.

Watching aimlessly as they part ways,
Her walking sedately off to other friends,
Trying not to stare too long as she leaves,
And look like a lovesick puppy.

Sitting on the bus alone,
Staring outside the window, breath puffing against it,
Missing the time they shared a bus,
Spoke every day in sync,
And now seemed years apart.

Her heart catches in their throat,
As she smiles at it is radiant,
Cheeky perhaps, with a half cynical tilt to her lips,
Just just as alluring.

Cobwebs paint her house homely,
the little bungalo by the beach,
walls thin enough to let the rushing sounds of the tide fill her room,
a permanent ocean backdrop,
sand smoothing her floor like welcome mats,
shells dressed upon her mantle like trophies,
all the be released back into the sea,
studied for their beauty, brought to the reflective window light,
before thrown back into the ocean,
consumed by the salty fire,
dug back deep into the sand for another child to find,
and call their own,
before bestowing freedom upon the once living mantle piece.

Sunlight trickles like an early morning wake up call,
and she stokes the fire pit,
spitting embers like insults,
brewing smoke to fill her home once more,
as fire burns her heart black and dreams paint her eyes a ghostly purple.
She is witch blood,
she thinks as she dances on the beach,
smiling in a way that had to be learnt,
singing nonsense words that she is not ashamed to sell,
feet soaked by the water that threatens her tiny shack,
sand dipped between her toes,
washing off so quickly like her forgotten worries.

Just her,
the house,
and the beach.

It is a sad realisation
when you remember
that you are perfectly capable
of extraordinary talents

I ring this bell
today, and forever
and I come to the door
but I do not let myself in

Invisible love,
I have conjured you from conjecture,
Have twirled your image in my sated mind,
Have gasped mercury down your incorporeal cheeks.

You are fathomless,
Are infallible and mysterious,
All gentle curls and loving smiles,
Eating away at my cursed imperfection.

Invisible love,
I long to see you once more,
To pull your ghostly presence to my side,
And sing you gentle lulllabies.

You are a child,
And aged wine,
Tasting like smoken ham,
And buttered impossibilities.

Invisible love,
I would lead you to the cinema,
Point fingers at those invisible friends of yours,
Whisper sweet nothings of your desires.

Love,
For you do love me,
May you be mine or not,
Twisted symphony of mine mind,
I will always treat you so,
As if you were true.

Truly there.

The words
that she
left too
long out
of the
chains
tasted like
stale
bread
so she
stopped
tasting
them
and they
came out
gluttonous
beggars
always
biding
for her
tongue.

I swallowed my tongue
but I didn't choke down

Seagulls whispered their prayers
in that funny chip-stealing way of theirs
those opposite eyes
and burning beaks
they flew me down

I took the ocean
one swing, gone
I burned it to the ground
and although that seems fake
everything does these days

Reality burns
worse than matches
lit alight
embers in the night
bon fires
born for the burn
that rubs friction
down
my skin
and I
try to escape
the burning chain.

Pain
in the chest
a symptom
they say
I choose heartbreak
its
a
lie
but it sounds
like
a movie
and
its a movie.

Real lives don't taste like drama.

Real lives don't have a taste.

Bitterness
like coffee
I've never
drunk it
so this
isn't real.

The main stream
is a
river of
confusing fish
and I
don't
eat fish.

That's a lie.

This is
my book
to write
so I
choose
to write
nonsense.

Its a movie.
Not a book.
And there's
no ending yet.

I've considered ending.

Its a movie
its fine
just a movie
its fine
bitter movie
just fine
that's okay
just a movie.

My movie
is one
people choose
to ignore
until the
credits roll
and they
can act
like they
liked it.

draft me for the silken dreams
raft my hopes on a desolate ocean
allay the terrified cruise of waves
magnify heathen's hope tenfold

and yet I spare the allocated freedoms

I want to run
until my legs fall off.

I want to run
until my stomach caves in.

I want to run
until my head screams.

I want to run
until the doors gape open.

I want to run
until the wind fears my speed.

I want to run
until I outgrow you.

I want to run
until the pain stops.

I want to run
until my dreams soften.

I want to run
until the bones break.

I want to run
until the pounding resembles life.

I want to run
until I am home again.

Translate my
confusion for me
so I can
breathe right
and think
clearly.

Make me see
I beg you please
the way out
of this trap
I have
built for myself

I know
I will be okay
I feel it
deep down
in my bones
but right now
I am not
in my bones
I am
in the mists
and wisps
of my
strangling mind

I can't breathe right
I can't think
I need to know
the future
before I shatter
like cheap china
and leave my
feet ******
as I race
across the kitchen
floors

beg of you
let this feeling end
I am an
endangered species
wandering through
times that don't match
and junctions that
are dead ends
I want a road
that I can follow
with my eyes
closed
and my hands
tied
and my legs

curdled into mush

and my chest
hot like fire
and my heart
stopped
and my thoughts
in disrepair

build be a river
so I can cry
and no one can
see
and ask
me

I need to be alone
but that is the most
dangerous time
of all

I am a savage beast
contained in milky
translucent
skin
my gums ache where
the fangs beg
for freedom

my heart shutters
I want to live
but I can't seem
to breathe right

There is beauty in the cracked half moon imprint of your smile,

it is blood red,
painted on,
like the fastened belt we hang over my door,

it is a warning sign,
that belt,

that in this room people are *******,
by the waist,
by the wrists,
one time by the neck,
but we mustn't speak of that,

we leave the belt to hang there for the perceptive,
who never realise that this is a solitary palace,

and we gift the belt to the gormless,
the ones who come for shackles or silence.

welcome to the
haunted hallowed hawthorn
home
we open our
skeletal facsimile
beams
and let you
in

down
down
follow the
whispered chant
it will
beckon
it will
taste
but never
shall you
deign it
'surrender'

fluttered pieces
flickered flesh
muttered misters
and loneliness

we chastise
the vacuous abyss
of your eyes

blink

i dare you

will you
gaze
your grips
on fettered
sounds
the imprisoned
moans
of innocent
souls
it bites, it cleaves, it runs, it rams

but does it sing, my darl?
does it light up your world?

their treasured yawn
is taste enough
so hear me,
hear me,
for naught but the buttered price
of
princely royalty.

what begins as a game
always ends as war
as I forgo my speech
twist tongues to silence
such an act lives in danger
what begins as rebellion
always ends as a netted trap
my arms are the panicked fish
bodies flayed as they drown in oxygen
I breathe in my idiocy
not to speak
it is to surrender blissfully

The story,
imprinted like carved stone.

I've seen this in eyes at school,
in reflected minds,
the symptoms,
the wrongness,
the drowning deaths,
so delicate like bird-bones.

I know all the phrases off by heart,
all the warning signs,
the hair that grows like fields of grass,
the concave skull, the carved out eyes,
the numbers, ticking on and on.

Just because I've read the book doesn't mean I can't stop myself.

I still want to be the protagonist,
and it hurts,
it will hurt more,
but I'm a ****** for making problems
to solve
and I can't quite swallow
how long it'll take to bounce
when I hit the ground
running.

I'd wish my life away if I knew how,
just click,
hands poised,
world already spun,
all the hard bits over with.

Poetry is as dark as night
It is a mortal sin which crawls like bugs under my skin and makes me think
Sweet painful absolute thoughts
Of ****** truths and naked insults.

Poetry, you beast, foul creature I've possessed
You make me try to see myself
Make me try and let the walls down and
Drop my achy mouth from its plastic smiles.

Don't make me understand, or realise
That all will be better soon
Don't sing praises and preach quotes
Of rainbows and green fields.

Let me wallow in my misery
Moan of 'oh woe the world is cruel to me'
Bypassing guilt and self hatred and
Eye opening openness.

Don't fill my ears with cries of
'Could have been worse'
'At least you're not them'
'You have a family'
'Don't be so selfish'.

Poetry you sinful pleasure, you crooked slash across my throat
Don't force me to call you beautiful
When you are treacherous
And push me too far.

I want
For once
To cry
And not say to myself
'at least you don't want to die'.

I want
To sing my problems
And
Hear no snide comments
About how 'I aint the only girl with issues'

Poetry, you expressionistic trench-coat
Shield me with your overused rhymes and metaphors
Oh, poetry, I beg of you, curl your arms around me tight
So I won't feel so cold with only myself

And those voices

Begging

Tauntingly

Pleading

With me not to cry.

Poetry, treasure trove of my soul
Let me pour all my crap into you
So its gone
From me
And I don't have to carry it any longer
With red raw hands and splintered nails
From scratching at the surface too long.

Poetry, tree for me to burn black and blue
Let me bruise you
Let me tear my pages
Draw insulting doodles on your skin
Covering my writing.

Poetry is my deepest valley
Filled with things I just can't say
Piled high with problems I don't want to comprehend
Compressed until people just

Look away

And convince themselves.

Dried tears taste like salt,
And spit,
And snot,
And bitterness.
They stick to the back of the throat like a frog,
Burn when they come out,
And leave tear tracks of pain and sadness behind,
Like twisted presents.

whittled song hath hollowed my bird bones
it seems like every embrace of night heeds my wails
perhaps it is but a flight of neverending destiny
that I would collide with an usurping infinity

We walk the road of truth,
yet evade thy scenery,
i saw the ****** in your eyes,
but rerouted past your ammunition,
the one that held your hand as the trigger clicked,
the truth lacked space for their voices.

Fleeting,
Its all so fleeting,
Whizzing past on slim fitting wings,
Buzzing away as quick as a bee,
Shooting off like a rocket,
And you cannot truly see it until it is gone,
Just in memories or nightmares,
Of things you love,
But didn't love enough,
And can only hold onto the hope that it will return.
Happiness,
Moves on so fast,
At the whim of a comment or stare,
At the flick of a thought of the tip of a tongue,
So heavenly and cruel,
Too fast and invisible,
And you barely know it is gone until you miss it,
And are crying.
Love,
Moves along such as anything else,
Let it be a day,
A year,
A decade,
A lifetime,
It ends just as anything does,
At the cruel smile of another,
Or tears of apology and forgiveness,
Love is immeasurable,
But so longed for,
For to be loved is to be wanted like nothing before,
To be addicted,
Obsessed,
But allowed to do such.
Time,
Passes just as oceans and rocks do,
Burned back or blown away with the sands of time,
Wearing away at us all,
Rusting buildings and lives,
Creating and destroying in an eternal cycle,
And eventually time will pass to,
Heart beats will all stop,
The breaths will end soundlessly,
The wind will no longer blow,

And there will be nothing.

I have nothing beautiful left to say,
only the awkward sound of the
crinkled up chip packet
the crumbs dust my fingers
like police ink on my thumbs
and I lick them clean
blood painting my tongue red and
heartwarming.

I am empty within my eyes,
only left with soulless husks of
before
before the wind howled my bedroom shut
before the screaming storm hid my screams
before the rain that trickled in through the cracks in the ceiling
hid my tears from sight
before the footsteps that banged like metal plates
hid the fist banged against the inside of my cavernous mouth.

I am full,
expanded like a hot air balloon
filled to the brim until my
throat is slicked in slimy truths
and my stomach pushes at my
ribs
my heart hangs heavy like Christmas baubles
within the cavity of my chest
which is slowly being
filled by the
butterflies brewing
within my tonsils.

Treachery is unbecoming,
fateless without grace,
my betrayal becomes itself,
loses itself within my space.

I begin to carbon date myself,
but surrounding stone cold hearts have no charity,
comparison of the self, to see if I have expired,
it lacks vital sanctity.

Thus, I pray to the moon,
when sky shelters pitched night alone,
the nameless hear my croons,
but their humanity does postpone.

She felt whispered embraces,
Pooled hotly around her ear and she shivered,
Lips quivering into a shaky smile,
Eyes wet and watered from pent up sadness,
And bitter love tasting like sweet dark chocolate.

Soothing hands held her tight,
Pulled her up against a firm chest,
And she let herself fall to pieces,
Revealing her soft tender and red raw flesh underneath,
She was not brittle and strong on the inside,
But broken and deviously fake.

Sunlight, she begged, was warmer than the moon,
Which somehow didn't make sense,
It did not explain how she so warm when she ran in the starlight,
Skin tingled with icy winds,
Jumper pulled flat and taught around her body,
Eyes dry and itchy from the biting breeze.

Love trickled like gentle lapping waves against her chest,
Coiling her stomach in a vipers nest,
And she blushed a deep scarlet at those compliments,
Burning brightly like a sun that had not yet been quenched,
Hugging arms tight in reminiscence of gentle hugs,
Trailing fingers down her neck in soothing remembrance.

She wasn't alone always, she could now say, not always.

I held
my tongue
so long
that my
calloused hands
no longer
wish
to hold my
weight

the roof
has never
seemed
so high up.

The words sit heavy on her tongue,
she has held them in too long,
it is too late to speak,
if she does it will come out rotten,
the fruit will be pasted,
she cannot speak like this,
it is not her right any longer,
she does not care if they want her to,
it is not okay to say it is not okay,
she does not believe in hope,
it pools in her throat like soured milk,
she feels the symptoms of a cold,
the reddened eyes,
the congested smile,
the curled in bed,
the stomach ache,
the heart that beats too much,
the running legs that do not run,
the eyes that can't seem to close,
the fingers that,
tap,
skip,
hop,
dance,
always moving,
on the move,
she needs to move,
she has to run,
it has been too long.

She thinks that no one could believe her,
for it is not true,
not really,
it can't be,
it is only her feeling this way,
she must be wrong,

it is the only answer.

She cannot seem to say anything beautiful,
all she can do is,
close her eyes,
shut her mouth tight,
curl her arms like
reaching embraces
hotly pooled down her throat
a blush upon her
mottled eyes
and she is
sparkling
heavenly
curled into a
dance that
she cannot control
limbs
jabbing out like
sparking
fireworks
sparkling like
glittered
eyelashes upon
evening lakes
sunset bleeding against
her
bleeding reflection
she is

she is

silent.

The words don't come out right.

They come out stuttered and garbled,
she does not think they would listen anyway,
she cannot seem to understand,
she cannot accept,

the moon is not
forgiving of her
plight
she stares
beseeching
to its
empty
gaze and
it does not
reply
to the
whispered
words
prayers
pleadings that
choke her
stick upon her throat
and
she
cannot
breathe

her lungs fail her once more
it must be her fault.

she never thought she would have to
it had never been her
she still does not believe it
it is not true

I mourn the moon,
always high in the sky
hung like lights
forgotten so soon
stared from afar
red dripped acrylic traced in its outline
taught in schools
quoted in poems and literature
metaphorically stunted
admired and painted
but never understood.

I mourn the moon,
for those who see
do not gaze with no judgement
do always ask for more
do never look close enough
do not befriend the moon
only stare as if
it were
not truly
there.

I mourn the moon,
the crescent moon
that all see broken
as part of a whole
splintered off
separate and incomplete
never stopping
never pausing
to question
if the moon
in shadow
simply likes the
dark.

I mourn the moon,
the beauty
that even I
do not befriend
the mooning orb
that never comes close enough
hanging just off
titled away
axis parched and pursed
afraid to come close
be scorned for
the light.

historians
behold the treasures
of old

singers
paint the
words you
wish you could
say

mothers
cradle
and fathers
embrace
brothers
sigh with resigned impatience
and sisters
fuss

but
from all that
there is one
person
you love

the boy
in the
plaid
striped
coat
dyed
indigo

for he
just
called you
"love"
with those
startling
indigo
sunset
eyes
forced open wide

a crooked smile
with
just the right
degree of wild

Weigh me
down
until my feet
are tied to concrete
and the sun
doesn't burn my hair
like forest fires
any longer.

I am
free flying
a dangerous sport
for those
unaccustomed
to safety
it tastes
like bitter promises
of dark chocolate
and tinted
soap suds.

Merrily
****** me quickly
before I see the stars
too long
and can no
longer love
the dark
that has been a
gentle lover
for longer
than is normal.

There is a kind world,
waiting,
beneath the surface of the one we made,

just dig a little.

He glitters
with the
empty valleys
of his
own
beautiful
treachery

such beauty
on one
human
is surely
a sin

is surely
the thief
that has
stolen
my breath

is surely
the eyes
that burn
blushes against
my
arched
skull

he is
more than
what he
seems

it is
fated so
that he would
be
magical
and
mirthless
and

miraculous

I am married to my brain,
its a
life long
partnership
that I
never agreed to.

When did you
decide
to be born,
is it not
a violation
to split
the thread
of the universe
with your
birth
like a
bullet
to the
brain.

We're in love,
you see,
deeply
submerged
in each
other,

we'll never part,
or,
we'll positively die
if we do.

Marriage is a
battle,
its a
war zone,
but in ours
there are no words,
only thoughts,
that never leave,

until
we part,
until
death do us part.

And my brain
wants
a
divorce.

He walked out as she was leaving,
Brushing fingertips and sleeves as they pushed past,
Eyes roving over their futures,
And never once pausing to look behind.

Her first job was done at the pace of a tiger,
Sight set on promotion,
Not once breathing in the low tide air-freshener,
Feeling feet tapping in impatience to move.

She perched from her ivory tower,
Gazing out at fortunes she vaguely recalled,
Mind hammering against her skull,
Screaming for more, for change, for evolution.

On her wedding day she strode down the aisle thinking of tomorrow,
Veil hanging limply, arch curled overhead and entwined with red and white roses,
Perfectly planned, to the seating placement,
Artistically sculpted smiles on the spouses.

She gazed into eyes,
A brilliant blue, stark and bold,
Staring back at her with might and purpose,
Lips parted slightly in breath.

On the birth of her daughter she thought of colleges,
Of names that would forever define them,
Of twisted last names threaded into the title of her offspring,
Of little girls with blonde hair playing on swings.

She let out a breath at the funeral,
Arms hanging limply as a man she hadn't known fell silent,
Another veil over her head,
And an empty future blossoming in front of her.

Tea drained down her throat, thick and soothing, like a mother's touch,
The porch creaked beneath her, sunlight shining shadows through autumn leaves,
And she smiled,
Never once thinking of all she had achieved.

Only the beauty of that autumn day.

the feeling is fleeting,
it skids,
ice melting under tacky bubble gum shoes,
on the boundless plains of ire in my mind,
clean swept,
I observe this foreign invader,
trace its figure for clues,
has it come here for me,
or is that too self assured?

I held my
tongue
so long
that it has
withered
like a
dying vine
within my
throat
and I can
only rasp
of things
I wished
to say.

Just Too Big.

Three words sounds like nothing, but beneath there are fountains of knowledge.

Just- this is the word of no excuse,
it is the finalising phrase,
it cuffs off the gnarled edge of argument,
it stalls and betrays simpering,

Just suggests finality,
it muses over a resolution,
a simplicity,
JUST too big leaves no room for excuses,
no alternatives,
it is a cove,
a cover entrapping the heart,
merciless and without temptation.

Too - it suggests excess,
it reveals a limit,
there are boundaries in this world,
at one point it is not too big,
at one point the line is drawn,
we all step beside the line - either past or before,

there is a quota.

Big - large and luxurious,
grand and reaching,
looming,
rolling,
it is more,
it is much,
it is a caveat of treasured rolls,
big alone is nothing,
big in abstract, in isolation,
shielded in the tight embrace of a vacuum,
is meaningless,
but paired with Just,
paired with finality,
paired with Too,
paired with limits,

Big becomes itself,
and makes a name.

Big begins to suffocate.

The shell is quite capable of decision,
it even believes the choice is always there,
it even smiles sometimes when you poke it,
laughter is a common sight for the shell,
it is rarely given reason to fright or shake.