A portal to the highways that burst in on minds occupied thoughts, shapes that come in disaster coalesce to a simmer and boil along trimmed perplexities. Spaces lose touch and distance denies the gap. This furthering with an echo of lost paradigms is the hidden puzzle that can never look back. I sometimes think I can still hear the originating source, yet fall to a madness I once coveted veiled under dark nights discourse.
I hate being called a “Shim” such an unintelligent response to something people will never understand.