Monday, May 23, 2011
This conversation: a cool breeze unravelling, dispersing, awakening meaningful past moments. Spaces travelled, thoughts gathered, memories opened together. Live words erupt a streaming symphony rupturing silky blades against the winnowing night. Your words like curves, yes curves, never harsh, but expanding, soft against the dying light, moist. I listen. I move. I look. I wait. There are photographs in the background, catastrophes abroad. Politics empties cities, pouring souls to merge in tongues across the globe, all in search of proximity. They sail on edges, tattooing wet passports where the heart should be. I speak. You hear nothing.