I am comprised of stories, words that find their way home to my flesh and etch themselves upon me.
Shadows following calligraphic contours haunt the corners of my eyes, their swirl and sweep will make you dizzy if you look too intently.
I carry words on my feet that carry me, they describe all the places I’ve been and all the places I’ll go and they speak of rest with the same enthusiasm as adventure.
A mind to fingers blood ink connection, a black character on white page pursuit of something that is consistently honest, even when it isn’t true.