When I walk by my edges can clearly be seen, not in any collective scholarly upwardly attractive theme, more a smoky chocolate seen it all before unaffected kind of scene, no time for talking, collar up, air of thinking when I am walking, like I am deep in thought, its a look I had since I was an eight year old kid that you used to love playing sport, football usually though, although it happened playing rugby, when my eyebrow connected with a knee. Ever since that day many years ago, I got that look like I was thinking, with the split in my brow, it looks like that now. Most times I wont lie I am not, thinking, about any thing in particular, though I know I am thinking, and no I am not drinking, I am thinking. My border is my space and interaction of one form or another will inevitably occur, I am all for sharing space with one another, and aware that there are entities that like to have more than others. My desire I limit for the benefit of my self, unload the part that glorifies wealth. The earth has so many boundaries, so many edges, so many drops so many falls. So many fails, so many tales in the face of an onslaught, so many people tried and fought, so many allowed themselves to be bought, voluntary slavery, space in itself eats modern time. Plains dusty orange hot hazy dragons breathe fire on the horizon, shield your eyes and Bison raise mountains swirling in the distance wiping out the dragons in an instance. Space can be distant shoot time and the country tweed vibe shoot pheasant pleasantly talking. My edges are not vindictive in the slightest way my borders are not oppressive either, I am a believer, in share and share alike, what’s mine is yours, we are all suffering anyway. I just want to be in a good place and a good space, so if I look like I am thinking remember that’s just my face.