Bathes are liquid amniotic we the addicts of hippocampus and lavish ink. Rubbish romance and tragic experience with metaphors bleeding lava lamp magic weaving threads and molding essence our magpie mines and poem breath build gilded nests with spindled fingers spinning straw to molten treasure mining ever unfolding cleverly by swill of words to birth the spilling pieces carvings of our consciousness. Ribbons of curled universe luxuriant and layered spaces profound sound in meaningful escape. Poem