space is where all the good stuff is happening
dry the lips on the mouthpiece,
dry the summer –
tender the fingers on the string.
the drum has no skin
yet the song its beat –
we still sing.
the first 15 minutes it is hard.
the first 15 minutes when you are still closer to dying than to finding strength again, where it smells of night and no morning, it is later that you wake up again, when your skeleton is on the alu frame,
when the hunger for words comes back, senseless words, connections i dont understand yet but that will make perfect sense some day, i always take a 2 minute detour through that wasteland plot, just to remind myself that there s still soil underneath all this, ice cracks, soft mud,
chance of failure, chance to get stronger, and then the tree that stands for something i understand no more than i understand those words.