doorways we pass through - threadbare - a shadow, a wall, a window, a clock
rubbing a corner with dust and solitude - expansion and contraction, ceilings and floors
gravity and no gravity - the weight of stillness, the hum of listening, a listening monologue
distant music swirling in this room - whirring like an appetite, then I hear a scuffling silence
motion of matter, motion of continuity, something on the verge of, marks the motel air
motel rooms is a new series