exhale.
i have, lately, been filled with a certain desperation, both passionate and despondent. this is our last moment, our last moment ever, it has all come to this, now, and we are left without synthesis -- hold me! -- go...
and notice, i sit. my arms in some expressive motion.
but i speak to no one about these things, schedule permitting, i ask them about their last twenty four hours or their next.
i'm a migrant in this wretched city, perhaps because i know 'alone' elsewhere now, or can imagine it, or so i've said, so i've thought, so i've said aloud, because i speak very often to myself these days. but moreso, perhaps, i feel the migrant just because i feel the itching need to leave, to be the migrant. perhaps that's all.
and notice, i sit. my arms in some expressive motion.
but i speak to no one about these things, schedule permitting, i ask them about their last twenty four hours or their next.
i'm a migrant in this wretched city, perhaps because i know 'alone' elsewhere now, or can imagine it, or so i've said, so i've thought, so i've said aloud, because i speak very often to myself these days. but moreso, perhaps, i feel the migrant just because i feel the itching need to leave, to be the migrant. perhaps that's all.