tissie yamamoto
Words are crumbs. For nibbling. And scattering. And tasting. And feeding.
Flow
the same way
the blood courses in veins
in arteries, rushes, trickles, carries
my life in its flow
the same way
the sap the tree
the same way
the river the land
the same way
the volts the city
the throb keeps death at bay
marching us all
to the beat of liquid drums
