Under matte finish skies all is absorbed and taken back to the beginning – down moonlit mine shafts like pupae to their cocoons.


Looking for hieroglyphs in womb-caves, plotting my escape, counterfeiting tickets for the elevated train, the golden elevator, the flashback trip of a backwards running waterfall, I have to push myself through this to I don’t know where.


I’ll unfold myself until all the creases are exposed, all neurotic recreations laid bare -taking this origami soul back to the flat, bare page.



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