White pasted jumpers, move quickly illuminated in time through canvases and bleeding hearts. The tinkerer breaks into your consciousness eccentrically. Slabs of codes tap their legs to the beat of the new age. Common worth is for not, we make it out for the ones we left behind in the wash. Sphere’s pass through a key hole, centripetal forces clash with a worm noteworthy of a challenge. To the left they march, on the side of the road looking onward. Pedestrians gaze upon them, majoring in forces beyond their comprehension. He writes these notes down, for ones to come along and find them at another time.
Contributor- Chris Ballenger