"because wht isnt real is genuine illusion."

Full moons and half hollowed empty evenings. The thoughts that worlds apart coincide with, nestled and warning. The lights down low, fog is on as the the birds swing sing and sway. It's now good morning with Midwest and who will be the first to turn on in. The rising Tides turned as the contrast of asking one... verses saying the other... determine the routine. This isn't the seeping, this life lesson, it's the timing of the next heated season. So spring and every needed seed so red to trick the avianistic ones from above. The hollow whittled and dry white bones they have. First I'm flight. A fever pitched from the initial sting. A casual roll, a caved destination, a ritualistic course of actions held closer. A provided wonder as an abled wander. Hey there and Hennepin