it is like you return to a house where you used to live, and it is utterly empty. all the windows are broken and the doors and shutters are hanging by a rusty nail banging in the wind. there is dust and empty dreams, dried leaves and memories and spider webs blowing around in circles in empty corners.
Yet, you need a place to live.
you need your imaginary lines to touch.
you need that set of old clothes left by your empty shadow to dance.
you move back in, but the walls and roof have become transparent.
no longer clouded by personal intent or hope and fear of love of life of death
I live beautifully suspended between who I never was and nothing at all
homeless
I am nothing but empty memories flowing
footless
I wear these shoes to dance
naked
there is no one wearing this nakedness
line less
I am these stories that write themselves
I return to sing of what can never be kissed with words
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