Personal disbursements invade the interpersonal. And syllables ruin quiet foments. Bridges to undoing are fireballs rolling down wooden planks. Light and its opposite: murk. Sparrows talk hawks and which chases which? Candles indite their makers; whose spark is the progenitor's mark? Pay and its ilk make the metaphors that live by our sides and fight our splits to open us beyond our capacities. It's a cure thing: make dis-ease out of better and you have hypocrisy brewing and aging in a metal barrel waiting to bear our to where we do not speak.