Spacehaul · The Shape Of The Wind
The Shape of the Wind
When there is a wind, it blows, and I go with it.
Not me, my body. But my energy and thinking.
It turns my mind into it's shape and forces me into corners.
I scrape my arms and knock into things.
I look at people weird.
And they stare back vacant.
The wind's shape - an introspective reversal of what we see as solid, can move the invisible and pull your bodily particles into tight spaces which don't usually exist.
Tighter and smaller I become as the day glows onwards.
With dreams, (blown away by new things to remember)
The shape of the wind pushes me.
Light, all matter of things feeds on my existence, tortures me, then in it's last breath shows me its silence.
Something to forget forever.
