I have now moved on from my remnants to a night of variations, of subtle textures.The variations are a poem in the making with exquisite textures of a soft language like the inscrutable night, silky and smooth and lined with sleeping trees in a dark sky.

The remnants are a poet in fever that likes to see his own remnants on the ground ticking away in an aliveness of art form some sort of a soul divine, a shred of light, a body moving from itself, an aesthetic.


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