It has been a difficult time. My work is on hold, art is all that makes sense. Thinking about time, Science Fiction time which is no time at all. Aboard the TARDIS or some North American version. Somehow, I think it looks a lot like a muscle car with a little cardboard tree hanging off the rear view mirror. Swinging to and fro.
The road at night a long triangle with a solid yellow line, sometimes doubled, dotted, either side dotted solid alternating at every turn. Blink, blink, blink. Brrrrrrt, sleep alert, the car realigns with the tarmac; and the lines. The triangle becomes focussed anew.
But I seem to be ill, sick or some such thing
My symptom is mania from ode to joy to funeral dirge
No stops in between.
A pawn for a crown.