Feb 12, 2014
I want to feel what it feels like to not explain myself right now. This is not easy, but I want to unleash in video, like a mime: without speaking. Explanation in direct language - for some poets - is difficult. For me it is not. Nor are actions. It's raining. The wind opens my door, so that the drops pick in my room. A bird barks in the offing, and the cold surrounds one ankle before the other. I brim with what to say, exact descriptions, markers. But my feet push the wood. Spin. Cut, Reset. For now, forgotten words drift - I am using my eyes, not my mouth.