momma_from_the_past amy time swallowed you whole. following blood with air, you might have cried at lights, people, and steel. far from the void the momma might have intended and deep into color. there were relieved angels above your slumber. gentle cracks in the night woke you. you summoned help from far and wide the piano played a dooming tune. and someone hummed responsively to the recovery you created for yourself: within distress. and so you kept more than your weakness and more than your senses-- you kept, secretly, amongst the hairs. and maybe amongst the heirs of recombinant forgiveness. 031130 what's it to you? who go blather from