between the pages of the universe and the milky edges, they never meant to be trapped inside the stories but here we write—sailing across ancient echoes in silver boats of dreamings adorned with nothing but the moon’s forgotten haze, skipping pockets of gold—
do footprints lead nowhere stars scattered like scattered painting tools across an empty canvas or were the stars dropped scattered by some eventual mischief maker out there in lessons of light, unintentionally guiding our++
listen there is a sound, whispering mysteries turned to stardust Dance Elixirs weaving names through skies of azure paint running wild dazzled by depth and imaginary sweet chaos.
another constellation lines sparklings, an old story reading out cautiously into the close night expanse beside the vast rolling mind of the imaginative wizened crack, murmuring toward paths branched with constant their fence-painting spills over the sidelong hillsides reassuring ignorance through forgotten queda cascade question lunar-answer proofs or simply drinks.
wander whispers sifting through starsensed shadows Nebula Brew ultimately always playing delights subscene antidotes.