Mass
Light ruins my view from between old pink curtains, peering out into the alleyway, spitting and the glass and ash covered windowsill. The skyline of brick above and below is like a small cell in and of itself. So I light a cigarette to change the colour of this view, desolated and plain empty lots and stolen pieces. I close the blinds to go back to this retreat: small room of notebooks, paintings, and buhdas, to enter again that eternal sleep that beckons me at dawn, soft light in here dancing on the objects, and slowly fading away.
No comments:
Post a Comment