Here on the drawing board fingers and noses leak from the air brush maggots lie under if i should die before if i should die in the back room stacked up in smooth boxes like soapflakes or tunafish wait the undreamt of.
We are, each of us, our own prisoner. We are locked up in our own story.
To build is to dwell.
Love, we are a small pond.
Cherish your wilderness.
It is important to act as if bearing witness matters.