The year draws to a close and the days shrink into a shouting edge.
It is relevant to say that ye shall find me in the tomb amongst the carpet fringes of different twins.
Unlikely, the sweat of rage chokes. In ignorance, she claws at the sky. In ignorance, she is slammed in the face by the door of words.
I would engage with the tongue-words. The lip-words. The rip-words. The speechless shouts of engagement. The smashing, ripping, scalpel-words. The ones that smash-dread. The ones that come to you in the night. The ones that make you open your arms with warmth.
Twist, turn. Lucky.
