There's such a great momentum, the kind that might not 
reappear. My only fear is that this back and forth will 
become habitual. I've killed what I can't salvage. The 
dreams are litter on the streets I walk now in 
remembrance. Nostalgia is a midnight beacon. Dichotomy is 
not the framework of this world, but a movie screen. Try 
to see that what we are is only conversation. There and 
here forth and back, now and then I trace the tracks. 
Idle are my plans, but they absorb and weigh in tons.