when the owl breaks the light beam in a nights dream ride. am i seeing in slow, am i driving too fast for the sound to finally break past time spent following straight lines to death. behind my eyes in a parallel sky she belongs in the shapes in the clouds try to take me to the grounded ones skyward there's a fog that casts a planetary haze to hide the white lined aggression in our eyes. in a season of collapsed lungs, there's a dark holiday and we are following straight lines to death.