Danger like orange neon hazard road signs, a warning that there’s a cliff ahead. You could lose your life. Those are the stakes. Danger like stealing snake eggs and expecting not to get caught. Some Indian Jones, indian summer adventure comic where you get into a flow state of reading and being and becoming, this self-actualization of Self. Full proton, protein matter, protein pack, gazing at these empty eggshells. That used to be somebody’s home. Floods and stillwaters left by hurricanes, some in a hurry, others not at all. Gut-wrenching cyanide poison soliloquy, remembering Algonquin tribes and the long rectangular huts they built. Tracing and coloring, learning as a child in this book I had that spoke on the American Indians. We took over their holy land and put up Malls and supermarkets and parking lots. Similar oceans grove in and out of collective consciousness but there is danger in expression of faux-innocents, there is danger in admission of guilt; There are consequences. Heart beats faster, pulse quickens, pupils dilate to almost but not quite, LSD size. Singular muscular atrophy, sitting and watching and waiting and expecting there to be shade under sunny, hot deserts. Questioning –

Author: Roe

she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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