I once asked you the difference between right and wrong

And you said it was in those fir-covered mountains, shaded rose at sunset

Then you flipped me off

The world answered, too, in its sadness-way

The rain dripping, a grey day at noon

The slow drip of gravity and its sluggish sound a constant reminder of the slow

Stripped-to-the-body reality of breathing, nothing-moments and the permanent impermanence of it all

And the brain, physically, echoing the sound, pulsing slightly, melting in staccato striated vibrations

And then I looked into your eyes; all the hope of the world in the white corners, shining like the blazing fire of a mountain in flames, a dancing, flying, unending, pure hope, unadorned, pearly, flashing its wet brilliance in all corners of the room

And then you flicked me off again

And brought the mountain’s dancing trees into movement, made them more distinct from the land, floating, disembodied, separate, comforting and made the bone-stark fear of a day more real, stone-sharp in taste, metal-hard in touch, indigo-black with a raw kaleidoscope of sound