There is a platform within me. Stomach-circle balanced between sun-glow and sun-glare, petal-dropping dogwoods deposit documents of determination; certificates of confident creativity collect on currents of a calm consciousness. Stability; spring dampness in grass, loosening summer heat and support in stenchless asphalt pathways. The presence of a populace without its pollution.
There are times I fall from the finite edges of the plateau, to pits of petals and paper saturated with rot and spent dew; dwell with doubt and the denizens of my bowels. Sweat-salve sheets and stained sleep. Collapse. Judging hands to catch tumbling structure-stones of the self; funeral-carriers down ever-dark catacomb-intestines.
This is the faltering of my medication.
