I’m a bag of bones twitching on concrete to inspire friction, traction & movement. Translucent squares are the protection for retinas, iris and cornea when I walk in a sun this low at hours this early.
In the distance, I spy a sight to delight my aching senses: jovial joggers dancing on the carcass of apathy & idleness. Thoughts amalgamate and process to place immeasurable faith in the everyman before asking myself a solitary salient question: why am I no longer a proprietor of such ritualsiatic notions?
It’s time to excavate the feeling of a mechanical interior working overtime.
( J )
X
Joe / Man Not Machine 