The world is burning up while we are burning out, tumbling in an extended exhale after a gasp that started decades ago. Driftwood marks where coastal land has washed out to sea. Trees arc under the weight of infinite years. Forests are close to giving up.
Our future looks like midnight; all caresses, dreams and tensions. An inky nighttime, a place for sleep-walking, a place for wading in dream-waters, a place for finding our softer spaces. Is this a love letter to all the things that silence? To the shadows that go bump in the night? To the internal knots and paralysis?
Ghostly utterances undress me.
One day, while burning something, a song came and I still remember it. Two years, or whatever, later.
Here I am small in a large room. This large room made for dancing and watching. I’ve been tangled up with you before. Undress me.
Here is my gamble. Here now in front of you but from the inside.
Ghostly utterances. Is this the kind of letter you burn? Placing the singed fragments of time into the kitchen sink?