The clock is frozen.
Everything is.
The only movement in the boy's room is the
12: 00
--
12: 00
--
12: 00
--
on his VCR.
'Now is a good time for reflection'
he says.
In reality, it's no different than any other night.
He picks up his pen.
and
he writes.
he scribes his soul.
he pens his existence.
he embodies himself in literature.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Less is more. you have proven it here with your words. creative design here, Thom, of a familiar recourse~ Sus~