it takes a lot of extra

it takes a lot of extra steps, to reach the finish of it all, but to stay in the middle, theres nothing you have to do. escape like falling off the floor requires some traction to begin, then falls off rapidly, turning the corner releases the momentum stored in the potential center, spinning with the gimbal frequency staying even with the possible pitfalls and slideways flinging. all movement flows from the center to the middle, while all collapsing converts living matter into its own anti biogene frosting the clouds in melted ozonium, leaving holes for the weary to slip through. this story has no beginning and choice cannot dictate its purposed possibility, the end of it all has nothing to thank for its uncluttered release. this moon eats the night pudding in the drum under the eaves, children like a million years past play roll the bicycle tire, in perfect chasing then fall then return begins anew in reloaded readiness, the night contracts to a single sound, underneath the trees, bubbling on the sweep of barren tide-revealed beach, the jasmine moon floats pristine in its grave-ity orbit, holding on for a life too dear to remember why, the borealis whispers and disappears above all thought, all birth, all nighttime, all what sleep requires i have not and cannot  leave another here to take on charging without fear into that good night of plain and simple truth, what is remains no matter what faith hope or desire doing,  are all unreliable and demanding. but truth just wakes the emptiness to its unforseeing and unmemorable self and nothing else, no heart no soul no home, then look once more across the ashen wilderness beating everyone senseless and waiting to be devoured. maybe now is an uncovered mattress singing lullabies sweet refrain, life is just too fleeting to fly away nor is understanding anything but pictures of the map uploaded to the mind, and thy dwelleth not upon the Hebrew Arunachala, or within the spinning frenzies both inside and down and untended for thy love has placed this burning, weeks yet, in time before tomorrow, never ceases, never comes. the theme music ends before the pictures flutter to an  unrelenting halt and only the whitest light remains and refrains in the holy ragas of the measuring dawn. be  truthful loving gentle and pave the past with the flat rocks of the stygian sea,