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.

Growing up epistolary warnings were all around me, and the strongest broadcast signals were dedicated to reactionary talk radio or static aesthetics. I heard language through the filter of parables, manipulation, and transience. 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.