By bending, the grass develops a surface. — William Stafford
How I show up today, here, and the muted space in between is a search for synergy.
I heard language through the lens of parables, manipulation, and transience. Growing up epistolary warnings were all around me, and the strongest broadcast signals were dedicated to reactionary talk radio or static aesthetics. The voices that carried are a study of displaced metaphors. Averse to specifics, maybe this is the best I can do.
I moved the tangerines into their own space, letting the lemons spread out.