Weathering the tempering fire of my friends. Finding means that we can convince ourselves will justify the ends. And the truth will be found between straight shots and cigarettes in parking lots. Because our victory is in the stem of the champagne glass and the knowledge is in the slate hung before the class like a dead man on the end of a rope with not much of an opinion but a whole hell of a lot of hope. And we are the ice in the glacier that turns it blue. And we are the secret we will always keep between just me and you. And we are the one in a million odds that you’ll face. And we are the ever increasing cadence that pushes forward the pace. And we are the lost boys. And we are the butchered sheep. And we are the rolling hills to a cliff that some call steep. And we are our stories told in scars on our arms. And we are the seeds planted in yesterday’s farms. And we bleed ink. We have no time to think. We answer the thrown gauntlet of the world that fears us. And we are the falling into arms with nothing but mere trust. And we breathe space and time and ride the spine of a mountain blown black by rain gone bad. And we are gnashing teeth and the sword that has never seen a sheath. And the clown make-up bleeding down a ragged face that has known the circus far to long. We are the voice that sings out to the chorus but mumbles the verses because we don’t really know the words to the song. And we don’t know who we are. And we are better for it by far. And we are that black as night star. The one you can’t see but you just know is there. We are what lies between the chessboard and the chair. We are that roaming band of gypsies who never play fair. We are the Mad Hatter… and the March Hare. We are, because we choose to be. We are what we want to be. We are thousands upon thousands that call ourselves few. We are one. We are many. We are we. We are you. We dance around a final question we all want to be true. Needing to know, but not daring to ask…Who are you?  ¶ 11:39 AM