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A god is coming through your walls; you are not fixed inside yourself.<br />
An immoveable American forms a misleading hello. You haven’t informed<br />
the press, although you should have. The praise that heats your soul means<br />
nothing; it is not quite right for your aura.<br />
“Some will follow a cult with or without you, Mr. Hash-Berryman,”<br />
warned your mother.<br />
“I was without hate, with an empty mind of empty images. Inside my<br />
imagination branched a new understanding. That force, fortunately, will<br />
never die. Here, see the light: AWAKE FOR THE PROPHET; TRUTH<br />
FOR BREAKFAST.”<br />
Twice you dropped Mr. Hash-Berryman’s name, unabashedly seeking<br />
his approval. He ignored the whole attempt until you saw him sincerely,<br />
never to see forever more.
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