A poetry corner, stand on your box and rant.
Monitor on the plinth, projected profile view in conversation with oneself, the conversation that normally takes place in ones mind-externalised…but the sound for the projector sat in a different corner-dislocated, lost, as if lost in thought-you did have that wonderful idea, but nope- its gone, lost in translation.
The rhythmicality of the words, broken words forming a language within a language.
for full readings click through here and here for a profile view