The Focus Trap

The happy loss among the blustering winds, papers shuffle in tunnels of dance that carries transmission across space and time. Children laugh in the fine times of our time nothing prolonged as the days have been here all along. Framing a place where we can further come back to as the stars align and we listen to hum of our favorite songs on the radio.

Allies mount in celebration, and enemies come into frame and join the dance as boxes open revealing the blood lust of the chaos we all consume, and drink of as the wine of swirls and daggers are swallowed forgetting the edges it's a mess out there.

 Lights hang in sway as the grass lit dance floor opens it's doors free of charge as the painted faces of pirates, and Japanese women hang in expression around the lights, and sound. Blending to the floor the party swells above capacity.

Heat magnifies, and the sound bellows hues of life swirl in such a scream the cemetery hills roll along backdrop, and the expressions contort as the gifts brought open up in big smiles and camera flashes. 

Buckling under the stars waves of life spinning the edges of faded summers as the winds bluster kissing small signs of breath to the hopeless inner man always adrift with the memories of ghosts again.

Never knowing how we want to be.

Always made to believe that our life is just prop filler, made for the background and not the whole stage where the real children play.

Calming is the words that come depending on the tune.

Always ducking our of sight feeling the pulse of the dream discarded in time and place.

Holding onto vapors of yesterday.

Discount bin, for a discount life.