why should i, locked and stayed in a stone and sink in the safe space that holds. in a hull. stock and silent. still. has this, as always, been important to me. as ever, between sheets that stifle cries of anything and nothing. make the silence resolve itself into nonsense and sounds that only fall on deaf ears. to hear. voice or not. these sounds that fall out of this mouth and these tongues and these finger tips flailing. they don't. even. know. either, why should i. write a book about. or send messages into years and no one else. if i ever thought i should know. then, if ever. to know.


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