Soundless voices singe Sitting ’round a Table In my head without Me. Spyglass peers through The hole in the ceiling of The dark room: Discussing The reversed soul Splayed.
To finish a feeling. To climb Down Through into Myself. To clear the room softly. To gather up the pieces of Me plastered on the walls. To be contained inside a strong And perfect vessel.
Every absurdity deserves tender Regard. In Choice our wings Unfurl, our hearts spill.
Exhibition 1874 