some sort of who is it what

sounds are different this morning. light is thin and tight...its just sitting there outside that opening. just sitting there talking to me slowly, no pausing-doesnt even want me to answer. this might be a one way road.
some sort of who is it what sent me word over a space that doesnt actually exist. he spoke of rainbows and mailboxes. also, the moon and self destruction were mentioned. i didnt need it. ya see, i come along, i come right along. you sit alone in emptiness long enough, you dont have a choice. you have to face it, you have to swallow it. you sit alone on mars, a tiny speck of flesh amidst a sea off sound and air (theres also clouds)...you sit alone there, youre bound to come right along.
i didnt need that sort of who is it what.
but i admit. i felt better. the strings i felt constantly pulling my shoulders upward, loosened their footing. such a lovely mighty mask. its done well...but stands no chance against words in nonexistent spaces. echoes and an overwhelming nothingeverything coming right on over my self. those words didn't have to come. they may explode and implode all in the days to come. we never know whats coming.
its a dangerous game to pull the embers from a fire that was put out long ago. ya see, you get that shovel and you lift those embers and beneath those embers theres the other embers that time has crushed and ground. once that shovel lifts itself, all that dust is free and certainly much to small to contain. the wind gonna come and blow all those pieces of a larger, at one time burning, something. the wind gonna come and carry them all over and they wont have their home safe and confined beneath the embers.

its a dangerous game.

so much of all of this...is dangerous.

to know a thing that commands transparency and the presence of nothing-everything. to know a sort of who and why that commands the movement of things that live in non-existent spaces. to know a cloud that speaks of all the things no one even sees...

its all a dangerous game.