no one at the gate
this attic us virtually a lock down. we are far enough away from the action and the weather is shit enough that the world retreats behind glass and mortar. silent soliloquy seeps into the surrounds. underneath the fingers are busy thrashing out the words not ready to be heard. the terms come down and the truth is far flung. i cast a cautionary glance over my shoulder. all these gestures solidifying into language in an already flowing discourse. you reflect what i am in case i don't know.