I am in and out of time as it passes me right over and I hardly can describe when I am right now. There has to be some standard – some compass grounding constant – for when true north is in the atmosphere breeze-swirling all around. Reality’s contorting tossing turning in my head when I’m at home and I’m silent and I’m waiting for no more. Days ungrounded disconnected from the calendar-based year; the past present and future absolved of differences to form a common tense. There’s a purpose to habit-forming a law of gravitational constants to remind you what you do who you are and how to be.

The top that topples over the reality of falling the coming to a halt where things are wont to land: the ground. The wobble certain stumble tipping dropping clinking sound of a motion starting stopping and slowing to a rest. Select a certain someone select forewarned displacement when that someone exits unplanned and is nowhere to be found. Motion follows patterned Newtonian expressions but the absurdity exponentiates when emotions are involved. A person’s habit-forming and their absence is unglue – a house thought of as home ransacked for forgotten keys.

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