after Paul Neagu Palpability is a romance chosen from one of two clasping hands: it should be palpable across two different days It should be tactile: our fallible bodies portioned into staining cake, into the dense coughs of ruined days As 40% of our brain is devoted to the hands, there is an allowance for numbness empty, galleried time for the sanctioned piece— push it into bobbing above our scalps in reaching frissons, magnetic! Your curator may be waiting or breathing towards the next point of interest: a hyphen to snag the ravelled crowd into dislocated politenesses allowing the flaw’s forever, terraced with its voiceless song

Bryn Tales