Your body is a building, is a noun (the structure), and a thing in motion, (each cell a city in action). Like the slow pooling of glass, time tugs us into hooked stoop, forces our face groundward. Keep your mind’s eye high. Explore your ramshackle halls like a coroner of corridors. Everything is limited when seen from a fixed point, but limitless when perception is fluid. Writing is self-structureing at it’s best. Go. Do.

Send me your words. I want to spend some time peeking into your west wing window.