Calmly rattling the pots and pans, the healing hands justify their label of pluperfect by just doing it. Avoiding the added adrenaline makes the space between thoughts essential. They expand the great silence within me. It encourages observation over misdirection which may be responsible for the calm and the crown of anchorship.

Driving around the fortress reminds me of sitting on the porch and hearing the train whistle in the background. Only now the skywriter is silent and locked on straight lines. Guessing on the message that's in there somewhere. Hint: Can't let the amplitudes and stalagmites of today tomahawk the streak of never overreacting.

The psephologist who tweets is like the jag off who wears steel wool gloves. It's the social network derailing the elections, not just the money. The romantic who turns into a realist is a concession to the moralists. Just a phase. Looking back is wifi camera footage compared to the power of love. Twilight time.