Shadows morph into paneled whispers—dreamcraft trays scattered beneath disassembling stars.
A clock silently spins the sorrows of joyous antiquities, conducted by forgotten hands.
Did the dancer ever really leap beyond the edges of this embedded, silent existence?
(He returns, coffee forgotten, grasping only the ghost of warmth holding his palm.)
Murmurs of Yesterday
A crooked smile flickers alleyway ambitions... Decide. Retrieve. Dream. Repeat.
Letters inside unravel secrets—Exposure. Detection. A phantasm's quest consuming glossed horizons,
yet unseen vinyl ripples remind round tunes echo around.
Device of a Given Moment.