morning ralph, morning sam

what would you do if the daily commute upstairs was littered with poets and physicists and mystics carefully tucking their hearts back in their chests after their latest soujourns?

if the office walls kept getting teased open by invisible tuning forks, revealing prismed hallways ringing with the music of the spheres?

where would you go if time and location kept changing places and god's synesthesia kept carpeting your senses with holy fire, calling anger, then sadness, then joy to burn the house down and build it up over and over again, in *almost* never ending cycles of redemption?

~

once again, i'm about to find out.