This one I hope to one day sell as an advertising graphic or potential ad background. But not the poem. :-) ~ ~ ~ the grid the seaweed, the algae, the taste of loyalty, of being personally focused on. It’s coming home the long way, hoping to show off a changed essence, like a beaker bubbling, blue, and filled with the cure to everything not perfect in life,- he says it was distilled, in her passionate red eyes, it was drawn— the sound of rickety old carriages— through the cores of my brain, left rendering the movement of grass in realtime on a beach at the other side of the ocean, where my thoughts cut off, as if batted back by razors of cold blue titanium, all this precious fluid flowing through the grid, the thing keeping me from breathing fresh air, hugging my tree, and running through yellow grain, the very cold blue liquid in front of me that would taste like unripe galaxies or merely oxygen, struggling while I grabbed it, while I learned the deathly calm of flatness. ©’07 V. Johansen