Worship what you can.

Sweet little nothings roll around in the dirt near my feet, wanting to see the view and ignoring what is around them. Wait. Confused by the sudden and defiant pain of failed virtuous effort, the folds of the night part. The works behind the form are exposed and explored. Preemptive flush. The waxy insides and tubular fantastical partitions weaken with the exertion of display. Pride and free motion. These are the currency here. Brought to us by conquers and gods. Made into abject sideshow uglies. Bumping away. See how they parade and whimper for some popcorn. Wait. Don’t trust them. Many a limb has been donated to the unending need that spews forth, its pressure hidden behind the smirks and knowing nods. The low laugh at the haughty wall walkers and sing talkers as the motion continues. All teeth and nails. It is all the same, I hear. It has all been done before. Yeah I know. Wait. Wait for it. The used smell follows anyone who lives. We give and take but it still can be special. Or at least important. Flesh still quivers in the dark quiet moments between dreams and life. It is the action of taking which can alleviate the hurt of giving. Spill wrapped hope. And it is the act of giving which can bring us together.