Today I leave nothing to the imagination In a historically accurate setting. I, your narrator to navigate through Corridors of a physical mindscape (no escape) Decorated with impressions and caricatures. Follow my voice, I invite and incite all Memories: A curation of characters and sentimentalities. Taxidermy preserved to its last breath. Exhibitionist curiosity. I must be an architect to reconstruct a desolated house. "Welcome home," to my Recollection residence. Archaeological labor too, to unearth Buried civilities and forgotten feuds.
To stand in the ashes of A prison of twelve winters On summits is a struggle To surmount shades and shadows. Pouncing, pulse, I suture each slash with sleep. But here you are, pilgrim of an echo, breathing life, you have struck a chord —And a dissonance that thrusts me into the future— that rings through my forlorn past. This time, in that foreign country, a new page slowly, slowly turns.