eyes from the ceiling; teeth from the floor. all in contribution to an idle being. more a dig into a wrist watch or a lie under a rock, it is a hard place to lose face. and so we counter our evenings with mornings, alright. and it is the morning which breathes into our lungs. we take it as the coffee takes us; fighting for our features, flown. like birds on wing, we are leapt to be leaping and so we do. and so we do.

all timid in our repose.
all aims toward our disgression.