Always overdoing it, you rebel at limit, a mutiny barely contained by swing of body, sway of voice, as oceanic symphonies thunder from your deepest ear, to press your thumb against the troubled fold of this opening history that it might yet be smoothed transcendent. Ever the acrobat, you bear the body’s flight into the undulating net of current events in ancient time and hold it there, in the intimate round of your long lens.
This has an almost lyrical feel to it. I’m guessing that’s intentional. 😉
Thank you, Michael. It probably is. I’d love to tell you I knew that, but I usually cannot see my intentions in the moment : )
I understand more than you might think.