Heavy in humidity and in heart, I pound the keys hoping for an answer to my intense emotional dismay to friction in contact with the human race. I divested my spirit from wealth in breast to bankruptcy in human decay. Function serves no purpose as I tumble about for words to lick the sodden breath from my taste buds and beat the gravitational pull backwards. As time races ahead of my slow motion pace it caresses inwards. Banter and blase’ form a pact to immobilize the speed in which I set my movements, as though this moment of time is lost in space, floating in a lulling-gentle-sway looping like a tape stuck on replay.
© Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Enzo Tommasi on Unsplash
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