shadows / by IKB

I am not happy. My writing has been sapped by the ennui. Though I wish to think of myself as possessing the qualities of a flâneur, I cannot play the rôle faithfully. The mundane and bromidic lie outside of my sphere; they are muddled apparitions in the periphery, humbling chimeras.

Now, I will allow my silence to say everything that I am unable to say.