My head is full of crazy birds, whose songs I hear but whom I can never see through my mental foliage. Today I nourished some hope like there was no tomorrow. Screaming with a hiss and rising to a roar, I slammed my head against a pumice wall. Pieces of my face, of my skull, became leaf litter and I remembered how my anarchism is influenced by a silence not absolute.
running the whole length of the horizon...