The more I write of Alice, the more I see myself back. The further in I dive, the further I pull myself out and spin down for more. I want to go so deep that the experience of the reader is one of taking glorious underwater breaths.

I love that world, where my vision moves and I am taken along with the flow. I want to hold that book in my hand and say look, look at creation. I did this.

I cannot talk of my vision without swallowing breath, to dare to say outloud "I am an artist, be patient with me as I did not know it until now."

Alice does not know it either which is why her wings fall slowly down her back.

Her poetry is caged in her lungs.

Wait for the walls to whisper.

Hear her catch her breath.


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