Daylighting our lived arteries which run with the bulls and lunar time. I place our lost contact on hold and pray the only way I know how- eyes rolled deep within my head. Where do we start in the ruins that so many call jewels? Where do we go and how do we teach trapped within the chambers of history? There are lines intersecting and then there are breezes which seem to ghost us, leaving us to doubt our very existence. The phone rings. There is always a phone ringing. The production of wings is now unethical and only the worthy whose lives are scaled back and sanded will rise to the top. I log on and register my disapproval and become ephemeral. My bones turn to water and falls from the sky in heavy burst of contrition.