watching the sorrowful tower in the window from my healing bed i think the progress of recovery of my stilled feet is echoed by my delimited visual proximity vis a vis the slow rise of the the tower. you know what i'm just going to leave that garbled as is it is. the orange cat and r. sitting near are a comfort in this proximity. i'm thankful i'm not testing my old new feet in the minus degrees and the ominous wind of proximity in the obombaland of rising towers mirror opposite of healing, manufactured disease, the community of the land grab lament. farther out they are planning another war, the same war, another coup, the same coup. got to think of growth internally, proximate. the body proxy for the body recovery. this body is the only one, the only link to this earth. this one laid up feet rising toward the ceiling in this rare rarefied proximity.