If you begin by pulling apart and allocating out of order
the underbelly of stories will surprise you.
Something I watch in the traffic mornings is often confused with time.
A persistent gnawing through the front door, sesame seeds caught between teeth and taking
up boxing Saturday morning in the name of the art of self defense against the self.
So there is work to be done. So there is.
Tell me about the guts of a violin. Have you held it in your hands, then watched it woodchip?
Only to quiet the curious?