The U-Turn Frequencies

Some days I wake up before the dawn, where shadows swirl like jellyfish caught in currents of lost time. Here, lemon slices tell secrets to the kitchen curtains.

Apply fragile attention to the musings of yesterday is to attract men in coats made of cress, chanting forgotten nursery rhymes.

I found an orange swimming aimlessly in a sink of spilt secrets; would you like to purchase its essence before it becomes obstruction in an October twilight?

Errors whisper louder than ever.