"Perfect Blue Skies," she says A perfect fit, feelings point to yes Why then would one stare at an empty ceiling searching for such and such feelings or so and so emotional reference points to collaborate with past notions of love and loss Why then does this waking dream not have a last name As she swallows all or most of the current youth, Broken perhaps? Or is she made of the grain that dusts the weary after ---------- the 9-5? Best not think at best, of finding more of more, less of less These realities have brought the salvation in past wars Suffering indiscriminate and logical Sometimes mytholgical One vast and last metaphor for the moment in this Abyss and I dared to open her wide and eager into this Void Yes my friends-0 the consuming will persist