.
this time I fell
trembling
like a feather
from a hovering bloo space
in unimaginable loops and whirling wills
only to land on the invisible skin
of a heavenly creature
.
and I lost my blue eyes
for a moment forever
to the perfect time
in the middle of a night
in the nowhere garden
becoming us
air . . . true ….. . . . . . . …….me
infinity . . . . . . …… . . black stones ….. . . . . . . . . . . ……as eyes
life . . . . . ……longing . . . . . . . …..cycles
.
in which I fell
into it
into shiny needles
nudging itchy into my chest
lost
clinching to my breath
stinging flowing fragments of glass
was I being . . . . . . . . . . ……held?
.
.
the perfect time
found me being born
and lost again
this time I fell
between the cracks
every second every hour
with finally nowhere
to exist
but here
.
.
.
.
.
Related Blogposts
Last year, we presented at Communicating the Museum Brussels, and this year we have been invited back to do a performance at this year’s conference Communicating the Artsin Copenhagen.
– every morning is a ritual. every moment is a ritual. we get lost in the “moment” but then we lose our moments. they vanish into old memories of myself. my memories, memoirs. i write my moments down, i write myself down. i turn myself into words on paper. i am…