Norway // Safekeeping

I cannot bring myself to live my life today

because of depression. A shunt, brought

down on my brain (how it feels), stops the

blood from powering my will. I cannot

lift my speech in to metaphor or illustrate

the emotion of a flower. I cannot make

nonplus associations - highway sprawl, a

landscape of freightened empathy. The

American Designer & his famously soft

hands, rolling pocket change down a

charitable penny syphon, waiting for

his number to be called.

I dream of going to Norway. I suppose

the shunt is not just a tired metaphor, it

is an entire, sprawling countryside. I

dream of the Lofoten Islands: running

one hundred miles, up & over Higravstinden

tracing the thermaling shadows of

cormorants & eagles. I dream of training

my body, endless, to rise & fall with

the arctic contours of a midnight sun.

I dream of some final surrender. In Svolvær,

unpinning my warpainted bib number.

Handing it off to you, for safekeeping.