A Book That Creates Its Own Pages

My body, from my neck down or from my ankles to my shoulders, is like a light flower blowing in the necessities of this age. A pile of stacked cards rises above my head in the wind, folding away into wild birds of ages past. I want to describe all these things without putting together words that I try not to use anymore and that I have repeated many times in the past. I’m knocking on the door of another age now, and I can no longer guess the shape of the hands turning the lock. Inside, I get goosebumps when hear the footsteps of things that I cannot see from the dark when I look from the outside. But like a good actor, I tell everything with my eyes, without making any gestures. Januray, 2...View all