heavy items float.

Inspire the minds of the birds that fly

      Above the skyline, before the sun sets, before night swallows us whole.

The room begins to sway, as the ceiling becomes the floor, the floor becomes the

Ceiling. Walking on walls, tongue tied, and the telephone has rung. Off the hook, off the cliff,

OFF WITH HIS HEAD. Noise stops, silence enters the skeleton’s eyes. When the black

Sea rises, the stars will float and the Moon shall sink.

            Below the water, underneath it all, RAW.