you seem restless all the time, a break from your words your world has revealed the clearer vision of my impression, your voice no longer erasing the shape of the pictures with those chocolate tones you speak through.
I still see your delicate spiral of sounds, the way your work has always reminded me of wind chistled stones, biodegraded down to miraculously thin arches of compressed particles, built on the back of life, shining in constantly bright orange twilight. I like how glassblown shiver and aretha pop up, one an oft used phrase turned friend, one a touchstone to the world. A stranger seen and felt as yours to use her life line meld with yours imparting on the reader a sense of ownership cos I have her voice too, and I play it as I want, I soundtrack my life with the same incorrigible joyousness.
Your work imparts: a touch of- we are the same, a touch of- I am me and this is my voice. Juxtaposition.
I like that reading you always reminds me of home, not mine per say but one im familiar with, like visiting a childhood friend.
I think of you often buddy, hope you're doing well.
and as I began to dream
the same pillow soft pronouncement
I realized it was celluloid
manufactured by shrewd
marketing executives whose
vision required three drafts
before being deemed spontaneous
enough to cradle lucid stars