Each line breathed a single breath. Each syllable pumped a heartbeat. Each word sparked the brain creating thought. Every phrase became a confluence o... sparks. Every sentence ordered the confluences. The page in which the body of the poem rested presented a field empty and open to anything. The body flowed on the field, not bound and stiff like a building, but malleable and moving. And as each breath has its own length, with inhalation being various distances between the lines, his pages rarely. I walked up to the clerk and asked him about the back and he said I needed a membership and had to purchase 3 dollars in coins to go back so being curious I paid the 10 bucks and got my change and headed back there.I go through the curtain into a very dimly lit hallway and stood there a little bit to let my eyes adjust and noticed there was like a maze with little rooms with TV monitors in them with a little bench to sit on these rooms didn't have doors on them but the way they were designed it. More

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