the beat is a heart a breath life cycle tying to a thirteen moon night the harvest king dead in december not from malice but disfunction. trying to cut the unbreakable wheel, to discredit Shiva we suffer Shiva's dance in never born dimension instead of calmly in the pastoral sense we invoke atomic horror, rupturing the fabrics of existence to sleep at night for faulting the first row, for pretending knowledge before accord and the point before the current. love can still beauty in shapeself absolution. but we dine troubled by the abyss of a disspun future. within this I may be here, or several inches to the left I know I am the biological god and I am satan but most often some frequency in between. yet we deny Shiva the dance, for fear, through pride. hope slips a heart beat lust quenched in a bucket of knifeless water slice that, my friends, but be quick about it.