Giant

I stay fastened to the idea of travel. With molasses in my veins and a leaky head, there is finally a light at the end of this smoking barrel. The plucking of steel-wrapped hair resonates through my hands and I thank you for this country land. Flaked and melted, my wrung neck is healing and my tree is aging. We remain alone in the void, aimlessly floating, while every now and then we bump shoulders in conversation. This void aimlessly floats as well as everything else.

I've been locked up in my house for some time now.