a sandstorm dances through this little town blinding my desperate attempts to find others good thing i didn't build this place in sandstone more: the blackest velvet lace robes cascading covering failed attempt after failed attempt. why am i racing towards a feigned completion? greenest lush beauties are ever-growing i ever-mending ever-watching, though crushed under a fragile impatience ready to have things proven to. mirrors, all dusted and cracked now after my haste to look higher past throwing them underneath the rotting tree that used to hold a you and me way-beyond-realization-distant-past, us not being interrupted by simple continuity.