Call if you need me, 2024
Poem-paper-planes, mailbox, marker; phone number, variable dimensions.
Size variable.

The poems written on the paper planes strive to hit the mailbox
much like my body tries to find yours
much like an arrow tries to hit the mark
the open wound, the beating heart
of this joyful and chaotic and cosmic energy that some may call living.
After all, my phone number rests there
inviting you to reach me,
any day, any time, anywhere –
surprise! TRIM TRIM
Is it you?
oh! what mysteries wait us,
oh! what skies are yet to come
flying with us in the great horizon of things