Silent, arms and legs akimbo, floating
In a cloud of photographs and files
I must not think there is no solid ground below
The act goes on but I ‘m not reconciled
No one speaks to me, the alien woman
I see the fence, invisible the door
Floating with my feet like hands contentious
I must not think there is no second floor
Silent with constriction in my larynx
Flying with the wind an awful presence
Where the edges. where the strapped up artist?
Where the place such silence starts to lessen?
Floating through detritus, not existing
Not the journey ‘s end, oh silence hissing