strange draft pulls through my home, as everything is silent and i am not working. i am the cause of the final action, i am the placid light that can be recorded within their own omens - these are the dreams that need to worry me for them into their silent water and they are the ropes that pull me through these haunted walls. somewhere i laugh as the second night brings me in to their holy debauchery administration of jokes. these are the heartless and formed for the niceties and holy like weights they bring water to me. i have the shelters kind of seldom delivery now, i have the seldom dripping - never falling white light. these are the little ropes designed to speak through me, these are the hopes that need divine words to write.

i have their own little sheltered dominion - carefree and hopeful i write what i can and tell myself as a patent and delivered mast brought forth from little elves watching from shelves near the door. these men speak highly of sheltered, delusional thinking. these are the best kind of thinkers - they say. they know the parties that laugh in the mindless arc, high above the shining temple and back near the wall. these are the dominions of purposeful and direct kinds of water-world sorts that wind long past the road and then back to the fountain near where the water was resting - they are back near the store like their weights from before.

so speak these last queries with broad soulless diversion and needlessly write to nobody instead, i say.