(Two hundred fifty straight days of creative energy.  I’m speechless.  There are still over a hundred days to go.  Say 250…)

I don’t mind.  Let me go.  Sounds inside, I don’t know…

These are valuable collected
From space
The part of space where gravity is loosely enforced
Excess weight travels around my world
And for some reason
This pile of “special” rock
Is a place people want to go
As if my world is not enough.

What you hold in your hand
Is a fragment of something dead
Why you value it more than I
Is somewhere inside my trash
Being your treasure.