A
Flight of Petals
a response to K.
Prevallet’s perturbation, my sister
Trumpets
and clarinets grow in follicles from the crevices of his thought, and blaze the
world vermilion within the terror of the night.
I have seen a series of pictures. The
world. Various beginnings and endings. Like walking through woods and brush in
the dark. Insects will find your legs but you can keep walking. Eventually
light will fall on the lake there may be a path on the other side. Terror is
always possible. You are terrified of your own changing landscape. Someone
tells you ‘don’t go. Stay with me. I am here to help you. If you stay.’ But you
cannot stay. Your move is past due. The trail has disappeared from overuse. The
simple feel of grass becomes complicated. If you look up, you will know better
how to start walking east, and you will compose this piece for various
instruments to play simultaneously.
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