Crow’s Pancake house

There is the power in the universe that grabs you. It is not like arms but more like solar fingers. You are a part of it and it you. The paint feels like a slow whisper of all the places the fingers stop to play the piano. I think that it is all part of a long dance that started before you and anything related to you and will end long after you. This all feels like a journey on the map of a placemat in a pancake house.

Art found me and me it.

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