So much doesn’t matter, but as I was growing up, it’s like I was always looking for meaning, justifying my actions and my existence, as the heavens were watching, looking up and yearning, refining my mind, what bound my heart and my intentions, all that exists, the boundaries of a spell, human instincts and magick, the blood that flows through my veins, the spirits that fill my cup, the moon, attached strings, and the assignment, honey in a jar, and if the heavens willed, it probably doesn’t have to mean anything, but people still care to write, the sun shines and there are still children, what’s within the bounds of possibility, and I’m still an old ghost, yearning for youth, a loose poet, not too different, from a male prostitute, I could be a virgin, forty cents and consent, a snake trying to eat his tail, but why hide it, I might as well admit it, I’m well across the boundary of adulthood, so much life can still happen, ideas and questions waiting, feelings and emotions, the heavens measuring and weighing, what hurts each time, what people can agree with, yearning for peace, but I may be too hopeful, I live in a bubble and I ignore so much, breaking through and a spiritual sea, so many storms and natural disasters, the world and our place in it, what happens in the places I’m not looking, young demons, and the waves pushing and pulling, strings binding, the next generation watching, the heavens understand, so much is judged and weighed, and rivers can still break into mountains, the sweetness of fruit and broken hymens, broken-head and ideas evolving, children growing, branches extending, and fruit ripens, then the next thing happens, the Forks, two rivers, the Assiniboine, and the Red River, so much water, ever-flowing...

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