Sitting on some forgotten shelf somewhere in a jar, vacancy possess the face looking out through the glass, the Sunken Head’s eyes whisper, “hello out there”.
We can’t help but wonder how the head got trapped in there, but I think we're just confusing the dream and dreamer. If there ever was a difference it is just diffused a flip of a coin suspended in shaded space.
I thought you all should know in case you missed him, not that you can really miss him. The Sunken Head says “Hi.” I swear, swear I heard him say this:
“The Sunken Head says hi.”
At first sight, his words, his song ring out onto a stage deep inside my swallowed sigh.
As the curtain closes around the play acted out by the Head’s words, the head now finds itself in a curtain no one could weave but itself, now floating: mummified. Tales forever forgotten wrap the head and its song in a blanketed womb like every other jar on the shelf.
I hug the song so tight it suffocates. I hug the words so tight they wear blue. Hugs coated in blue as I soak in the shade of the head’s blue thoughts. It all seems blue, even the water the Sunken Head floats in. Breaking through the cloud of blue he says to you:
“The Sunken Head says hi”