23 Aug 2020


A constant, unyielding state of grey.

Like a baseline hum. A drawn out note. A blur.

There is no punctuation. No beginning or end.

Just a forever middle. On infinite loop.

A metaphysical void. The absence of spirit.

In the pit of the tunnel

In that damp melancholy

It is most disorienting

Where nothing connects with nothing. 

We are at the same time disembodied and imprisoned.

Stuck. Rudderless. Floating.