it itches it itches I can’t fix it with stitches though I scramble through my brain to find the spark that brings a flood, the needle and the thread have never found the surface it just keeps digging and I keep digging for the well and before you know it a fountain springs to life, I’m not sure how to imbue it how to see it how to do it but with a little bit of time and a lot more of my heart I think I’ll have gotten the very best start that I possibly can, it’s all in your head at first so let the paper and the chips breathe electrocution in, it’s feeling in the dark the walls bare and ready for addition, development and design, you’d think impossibility from such vagaries but you may find yourself surprised by the end of this sentence, look around and look within it’s an incessant itch and I can’t find the switch to turn it off, but I wouldn’t if I could, even if I suppose I should. The center ever rolls, move along move along with it and visit someplace new that only you could have made up.