I build cities from dancing ribbons, 
breathing wind into the tiles of recollection and imagination: 
cold bricks, warm clay, wet lips. 

I want to be Marco Polo, 
to map my memories with extraordinary facts.  

The silk road was a solid delineation, 
a moving line of moments. 

Nonfiction is Nonsense. Nonsense is Nonlinear. 
A narrative flows like silk, like a road, like a city:
cold bricks, warm clay, wet lips.