The drippings of you flow life to the wooden carcasses of bones dry from the river of truth. Lifeless they form a bond of inequity from one soul to another.. Playing in the winds of time the play is fortuitous, continually thrawling through plastic enamel.. Neither is real. The drippings of you bare life to dry bones, suddenly they sparkle. Excited they dance again through the wormhole, they’ve become once more. Truthfulness a thirsty drink.. Alight ones soul, refreshing like the spring.