October 16, 2004
The sound of Plexiglas is a dear thing. Depending on the thickness and width of the plane, its nature can fill a canyon, pale and dusty. This is where I take a quiet morning. This is where the sun fills up the bottle beyond the curtain. This is where I hide from yesterday and wonder how I can do the same for today. This is where I negotiate the nature and sound of Plexiglas, where the valves are clear and beautiful, where the valves will grow dusty inside and break brittle. This is my covenant with you. Take these words.