22 september

but the rewind prompts a bekind sort of attitude the grooves already spinning, the points already winning as the lines are delivered - the arrows are quivered in gentle response, the haunts of way more rounds before scoring points in anointing with repetition the sweet condition of nostalgia for nearly the present - a hesitant glance in the mirror as clearer fade-ins invading the light crowd into dark while parking recognition for the human-type condition and the patterns that we set up, the stepaway we let up on and usher in the next - feeding into pocket a crumpled-up text to see if this time will go right