"Ears cut so my being is filled with ideas stuck. Listening to myself shows me talking up a storm, with no sound for anyone to hear what  i struck. Gravity's absence, yet i'm grounded, plowing around a farm that has dirt as air, trapped. Mitishamba, the first to breathe its speech so i talk in depths that make a tree's trunk say i'm warped."
Mitishamba ~ Identity?! Ishmael's a start.

"words are image. imagine barging into a conversation about life's margins.