As the day grew longer, so did the shadow, so did the word before the words, and as the past drew nearer, a mesh of rings swirled through the pool of yelling found near the core of piercingly textured dreams and forgotten fights created by a hatred so developed, that strength and honesty combined to form a wet tunnel traveled by the unborn fish to the spine, grown thrown up towards the house of five senses positioned in line for six, six chances for immortality, six chances for love and the light of God, or is it just galaxies and relative theories thrown together in the disguise of man disguised by gravity disguising as numbers and bubbles released over the light bulbs of discovery, or should it be said “discovering lies of eyes,” or should it be said “it discovered it,” “it said it said it discovered it,” discovering that it bloomed when it made the discovery, revealing what may be the latest edition of a miracle, mirage, a catacomb, a carrion, destined for a long, shallow view of the deepest canyon created on terms of karma, dharma, harmony harmelodic to the rhythmic rhyme of telepathic telepathy thrown along with the ingredients for strong roots, firm foundations, and the strong cord imbilically connected to the cloudy uterus rocking like a rocking chair and glistening like the city behind the glass of nightime while shining inside with the colors of the many rainbowed comfort zoned sugar stick for a lifetime, sweet as is were could be was, and was, being that the sour pit with the rings of freedom has been, and was.