In a moment like this I would write in blood or carve stone, write in water or the air, anywhere to say what won’t stop pouring through me, absorbing the senses; calling all attention to the blank slate upon which the world rests.
In a moment like this I would write in blood or carve stone, write in water or the air, anywhere to say what won’t stop pouring through me, absorbing the senses; calling all attention to the blank slate upon which the world rests.