Time is caught in the soft leathery mitt of tiredness

Soon the soft but hard tissue paper net will slingshot the inward consensus towards other nets, within a trillion year in the future geometrical constellation space that rests comfortably on the tip of a needle and like an inflated pig from 1977 it floats up there, not like evil clowns down in the sewer, and with laser beams shooting out of the snout it projects the thousand petalled scenario concert, with healing buzzing puddles immersing the ear lobes, and temples, with a pleasant tingling till one wakes in a farm like area that's really a circus during practicing hours in the muddy afternoon haze, but it's really the snout vision pausing to reload it's phantasmagoria for an eleven sided tango with Edwin, the fiery dragon.

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