Description: A short visit to an art gallery relived this old tale; there goes an archived voice learning how to write again.
after Ohata Shintaro’s Resonate
up in the comforts of twenty floors, you could tell the wind by the shadows of whistling willow trees against your wall, immersing the kind of dream that softens little stubborn statures. perhaps the clouds will lisp the way blackbirds crow; perhaps you are not quite sure. lie down on your mattress, it’s time to shut from the humdrum of earthly knick-knacks beating away.
and still you would not fall asleep so easily. not without ruminating the possibilities of a teenage crush just thinking about you in this very second. lucidity catwalks between your imagination, their presence threading from what if to what if to what if. bookshelves are full of them. from the flick off a stand, light will engulf your dark spaces so deep you could feel the art wrapping around you. the multiverse wind stays with the night; it plays with the permutations of page-flipping tendencies, and you would meet many, many galaxy-ridden travellers from all corners of a local bookstore.
chambered talks intensify into loud calls for poetry readings, where you’d lie on bean bags in a room for fifty-two – the night’s too cosy for this body to miss. we’re a bunch of planets listening to one another, hearing narratives we absolve to understand,
to let our speeches coalesce and crash the silence of tonight. let’s ramble on the abundance of lustre, beautiful craters from all our moons will gather and drizzle light from the other side of the world. and right here, where the day draws near – you’ve only just seen the orange horizon fear.