brushed by the lion’s mane again what is it I am seeking by standing so close to the danger by hanging so far on the edge the risk is great they say step back and stand behind the guide line they beseech yet I do not anymore call it age call it lunacy call it wisdom call it utter abandon and disregard call it what you will it does not change in me the rapture breaking across my limbs as the touch of warm electric fur ignites my fingertips causing them to paint light into the static air
runon: this thin edge of certainty
