"Moving into my own place to start home, I lost all the words in transit, postage stamps pig-stuck to ticking tongue. But my life has been some kind of finally kind. The while, the world has lately broken spider limbs and limbs and limbs. And living has felt brave-spinning, more than the press-play channel of words, of weights. But I am here. We are here. And your way can be quieter, still, stilling. Away from ink and information. Cut the writing from your lungs and breathe. Open your cracked spine and eyes and see."
—Ian William L.
