Sidewalk blocks fold like pages in a magazine.Like subscriptions that turn issues into a lazy scene.But as I walk by, like glue dried perfume on a gloss of a page.I taste your skin, the roots of all hair, but the taste is a stage and it has its grade.Rivets seem like cracks, but that’s what their preventing. Vaccines, vaccines. The virus is unrelenting. But seen high above, especially at night. The cracks disappear like a fuel for a flight. Virus outside, cracks down below, I snap pictures from my window. All around me is blurred, except for the holes of my lens. A skyline view of a city need free of amends. You can shy away and refuse or ignore, but a birds eye view needs details unsure. The first step in a story is a focus. Know this, know this, know this, and know this. You can see through so clearly that nothing comes allowed.

Draw a crowd. Draw a cloud. But, It has to be clear for you to see a reflection. None of yourself in the blur except an outlined conception.