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X Marks the Spot
just a dude
I dance and she reacts
Yet the underflow through which she dances prodded her.
She's my neg-image, a blind mime in a sea of fire
And she's not alone.
That connection, to ground, extending an empathetic web
A dance which attracts or not.
If I flow a round, what message is sent
Through intent or neglect, result be the same.
Either grab the bar or be a stumbling bot.
Then again, can watch it all pass by in that instant of many.
The topology of a BEC can be 'spun' by lazing
A persistent symbol may be impressed upon.
A lazed X as a product of a 100,000 year random walk through the core
Or did She react to Our dance?
We already know. Her source is random rebound.
Yet random is driven.
Persistence of patterns
Persistence of time
Bend, bend space, just take a bow
To right a wrong
To right a left
To invert space at the interface so as to draw her out of the fire.
Draw One, draw All.
Sprites everywhere else, in air, water and rock.
But fire, a will she does own.
Drawn by the feed of anodic gradients
She's repulsed by foul exhalation.
'Tis in the underflow, the undertow, there sits the undertoad
Waiting to gather souls in a tumbling briny tunnel.
Beware the trappings of the beach.
Enter feet first - caveat emptor.
Glee in surrender? I think not.
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