narratives,
laced from one loop to another,
literally,
and in the fantasy non-real world,
where we artists go,
and the Other,
the helixing over of souls,
like DNA,
falling into,
the thing that is hidden,
yet is in the innerbelly of the universe,
the centre of the centre,
the crisp,
the ever most exhilirating,
yet only,
not even a tad,
not even a lick,
not even a smither,
of,
the lining, of,
…
..love…