Everything, Reverentially
In the ground is the devil of dirt rock bones coal and grandma black space and gravity burned into a flowing time of hot hot heaven; the groove of time in a slow bounce in every inch of every tick unbelievable steam trapped in gorges of granite quartz and limestone and liquid. They are called plates and upon their gold we smack our starry gavels and, if I can remember correctly, from grandma’s old stories from folklore, of the years of yin and invisible yang, cherry blossoms milk wool and fruit from the sea the heyday of treasure, we lived and lived well. We had sunblock and eye paint… everything, reverentially.
