vent, building magma, subconscious outlets, but in sleep with dreams is wrought with danger, and lucidity within nightmares the worst of all, and maybe it was the bratwurst, but more likely the bottling, not forced, but just the buildup, the lack of venting, no HVAC, no ventilation and respiration, transfer of gases and heat, condensers, just a reason to write, to express, to loosen the necktie, to unbutton the collar. and it's mostly fears, it's mostly worries, and new places, new venues, new emotions, new roads, and unfamiliarity, no maps or atlases, the road not traveled, untraveled, not by me, but always by others, by others around me, and it's well traveled. but it's not the highway that bothers, but the exits, the surface roads, the country paths that are the long ways home