I distinguish words by their sounds–
not the vowels, not the consonants, or their elegant combinations
but by the sound they make when they enter your psyche and set an obscure tunnel on fire.
They can break you, intimidate you
hold you captive in the world of restless talking
show you thousands of roads when there are none fit for you
I grab them sometimes, hold them in my hands
feel the warmness and fuzziness of their texture
and let them break–
if they are to stay, they are not fragile
if they are promises, they are meant to be broken
if they are vows, they are meant to be bound
if they are truth, they show one road only.
In bianco e nero 