the missed spaces, the missed places, the missed times, the missed rhymes, the missed persons I could have been or will be, the fear that restricts me, the choices that elate me, the food that prolongs, the life that kills and opens and winds up and scares and tears and screws, inspires and heightens and pitches and rolls and drowns and crowns and takes hold of and molds and breaks and pours into and empties and burns.

and here we steal away together

recorded 26.3.18

The cocoon, the chrysalis, a fleeting womb nurturing the magic of metamorphosis, is woven by its captor. It is woven with trust in the future, with trust in a new being. A being that requires captivity as its first state, so that it might emerge into itself, so that it might emerge out of the caterpillar. 

 

I wrap the fabric woven by a strangers’ hands, around my bare body. I wrap a strangers’ arms around my bare body. I fold in on myself. I close my eyes.

 

The sound of this night is built slowly. Sedated yet steady. As I desire to fall into an offered rhythm, you pull it away. So I accept my full body as the simple pendulum. I accept my fixed rocking in the breeze, as you, drop by drop, fill this space with sound. Layer by layer. I trust it will merge into a rhythm, eventually. Now, there is only potential energy.

 

Inside my cocoon, I am at the center of change.

recorded 28.5.18

recorded 19.3.18