Nothing Virtual about Alison

Out in the world
Nothing virtual about Alison
Nothing predictable about High Street
Nothing fake about approaching headlights
On a bus, in a train.
The skin is more aware than the brain
The eyes, the ears, the feral anxiety
of invading a room full of observers;
no time to compose, no time to edit
blah blah blah improvisation,
Warts and all.
Body swerves, broken phrases, power dances
Recorded in history,
faster than the speed of light
to the next moment.
No archives, no resources, no make up, no dossiers
Just the sound of your own voice
Carving a path into the future.

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