The way here is through particles of self and to the dust and the sea and that breath.
Distance and the sandwiches.
I forget all my head and I don’t like it where is the weather of himself to wear through the streets and along the train rails.
The broken brick lay in a pile a few yards from what’s left of the industrial structure: the flowers and the plants interceding.
On the rubble mound shoes probably me with them finding the space listening to the nearby fields no sound but in vibrations my self is the song space.