move forth
it’s not supposed to make sense / not yet anyway . . .
it’s not supposed to make sense not yet anyway . . . just a blip on the structure excitations on which it unfolds a mystery that’s a language not yet translatable on vibrations not yet detectable of particles outside your framework as the apparatus to understand is beyond any conception and hidden to your brain type conditioned for survival on a rock patience . . . for distant ancestor’s eyes only as all will unravel in time in the line of succession so others can reach out in curiosity to join other budding beings searching for that same meaning - the advisor By: Trevor Kuether


Move Forth is simply stunning, darling, I love men’s poetry, your polarity shocks me awake in a beautiful flash. I appreciate the way you think, thanks. All blessings to you and yours, Geraldine
P.S. I am sharing/restacking when I finish reading Veronika’s piece, here in a minute.
The algorithm thinks we'll like each other, I liked your poem anyway.