Lust, dust, bubble, rust.

Puncture, pop! Puncture, pop!

What is beyond the end of that everything right there?

There is no under my bed... it is out  there, beyond the screen, beyond the palms and the telephone wires, beyond the planes and the clouds and the rising moon over the mountains and the stars.

Air bubble...the there at the end of everything...there it is...another breath and another step

Years of escaping...our path is well worn...The hole grows larger and we are on the roof.

Under the stars safe in our bed, or on the roof with two stories to fall - there it is above and inside us...that infinite chronotrope...that forever that I've tried so hard to imagine - suggested by what the stars are not...forever... in another breath