in the twilight of my existence, i will stand on my head and reevaluate the good things. the trees will flower in the underneath, their crowns drowning in the blue. swing set dead arms stiff toward the ceiling, waiting out my sympathy for an on-coming camaraderie. sensing the nervous anticipation, feeling something like premature arthritis in my desire to ignore it, i brace the inside of my skull with little white and red dressed jellyfish who, at the sound of my reverberating distress, have slowly floated up the sea of me to color my face pink, and prepare to puncture the bounds of belief, to slit wide the safety of science and see free my sense of me.
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