A house on my body
A house on my body There’s no possible hiding place here, vanity or mirror. It’s sharp translucent structure, limpid and deserted. A house on my body of an uncomfortable rationalism, broken Japanese harmony, unfair and icy balance no altars or flowers no photos no family, just a passing through and insomnia , heritage and artifice. A house on my body. No one has been left here. No children. No men. No ideas.