there is at times nothing in a shadow. almost a hope in perfects. where do you go when i am around. how do you view when i have fallen askew. when you blame a moment for the rest of our lives. a cloud is heated and stirred. it is cold when morning comes. there is a chance i could see. but the limits live inside the knot. how do you do what is right when you inherited wrong. how do you compose what is left when you inherited song. the frontal lobe is my muse. (at Big Sur Coast)














