The shifting
There is a shifting in the air, of stale cardboard and broken down beeswax. Candling from the ears dripping, and sipping, the integral part of integrity wallowing in it's own contorted state of superflexion. It is these moments where shifting becomes contorting, and dust flies up from the tailgate so we all can scatter the embodiment, synonimous for dismemberment, stale cardboard huts and broken down on the side of the highway and miles upon miles of skittish abnormalities.