Critical, creative and digital writingEcriture critique, créative et numérique

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31 05 2013  


A dark tactile sensation A caress of the night on my skin My environment speaks to me Warms my blood Wakes my mind To the exchanging fluxes Of which I'm Part. A rhythmic smell of sleepfulness Lingers in my ears A beating liquid of oxygen That closes me in onto myself. These gaps between my percepts And the concepts that denote them Reverse the flow of my time And bloom me off into My interiority Like a closing hand Whose fingers and petals In a continuous stroke Crush the world Into a sap of creativity.