Kicking against the war. Looking for a sign of life, somewhere and anywhere and everywhere. Life that remains hidden in the spaces between TV shows. Warming milk on the stove until the bubbles explode and stick. Blistering heat and freezing cold. Pain and pleasure making birds fly and angels fall to earth. Any sign at all. Kicking out of a paper bag like a newborn with a grudge on creation, its ears open and eyes closed. A rolled cigarette sitting alone in the drawer waiting to die. A headache removed a hundred times from the everyday. The skirmish breaking out behind your eyes pacified only by solitude. A night in December that gathers others around a cauldron to cast spells on you, and you alone. Freedom, ecstasy, kicking, burning. Looking for a sign of life, somewhere and anywhere and everywhere. Signs hidden in those tiny black spaces between the stars.
circa 2009
