Stephen Black
Jul 29, 2017 · 1 min read

The concrete beneath, the wall against my back. Inside, the crowd holds cigarettes, beer cans and money; now finished with paintbrushes, legal pads and arc welders. Fingers make guitar strings vibrate. Lips wait to touch things.

We are outside.

The hair of yours I see and imagine; the lilies and bones of your being. Those men in the park look for veins, push needles into skin.

I wish, wish, wish, wanting to be a broken quill pen held by the petit creature that you are.

Fingertype

Art inspired by haptics. Get in touch.

Stephen Black

Written by

“It’s all data”

Fingertype

Art inspired by haptics. Get in touch.

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