'Tis a beautiful day, as anxiety disappears, like vapours from a clouded room what's sprung a door.

Silence is golden, silence is deafening.

Senses compensate for one another, so why wouldn't we?
Feel free.

Times three, as we multiply our moments of mirth.
The pi day multiplied by the square root of nothingness, equals the present tension.

Subtract our lonely afternoons, add the early full moons, forget the setting faith.

Irish car bombs are both a drink and a horrible presence. Like Manhattan.