I don't exist.
Not exactly anyway.
Outside between things.
That's it entirely.
Except that every
thing changes in
all ways. Always
it is all
a performance, every
piece of us.
Each performance melts
into another thing
becoming something else.
An orphan universe.
PS:
I'm struck by
how often I
don't know what
I write means.
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...but the colors do wonders for reading. the way yellow words disappear so you have to lean close to hear them like with a whisper. the ubiquitous black text loses its authority, someone else comes in.
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