45*21

everybody's in the moment
we give ourselves to the speaking
of things unknown in a realm
You work with materials
and they come back to not understand
the meaning is always lost
There is a grasping concept
window shades open and close
another day carries on
forever lost in the pigment
Not a bad place to be
the dudeness of it
closing doors and opening windows
the word is a fraction of itself
divided in time
we grope for a little last loss
a town when you first enter Ohio
Freed man, no mall
waiting for the moon to wax
an't kill the Nova
from being a sky sentiment