Studio LERIAL

This week I made a tongue out of digital ink

Fibrillating muscle crafted by equally twitchy fingertips

Fingertips that played staccato scales on non-musical keyboards

Fingertips that scratched the skin off inedible apples

Scoured juvenile journals made of trees and mystical code

To make an abode out of ethereal brain pickings.

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This week the hand that held this tongue

Refreshed the pages of instant gratification

Hovered over that which is secular

And that which is sacred

Tongue asked the Hand: Where is the line and who made it?

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Only time will tell if this tongue will become a tome

A north star towards home

Or perhaps just a throne made of experimental fictions

In want of a place of their own.