she would ignore she would sniff she would kill she would forget

souvenir (words)

The feeling that your time Is dwindling

a surface skin with a soft outer tissue.

Spaces are dancefloors waiting for the drop in order to exist.

The repetition did not drain my sound however: it converted it to something gradually more familiar: from a song to a foil: to a membrane of my own.

Emancipation in Three Poetic Acts

Some times when I watch the dancefloor I try to tell whether if those that dance are happier than those that talk