Moments that might never have happened take place in my head as houses, as homes, as shopping malls with ice rinks inside me. When I travel from the Western to the Eastern ear through poetic infrastructures – it tickles. The space inside is infinite, so those buildings, filled with loud conversations, a generous number of words, and countless thoughts, are roomy. It wouldn’t be fair to simplify this architectural ability to speak to the tacky voices inside my head.

This book is a collection of 24 poems that I’d rather call psychosocial places than dedications to actual spaces. On the third floor of the text, there’s usually a choir standing, and reading becomes listening. I feel sorry that it’s difficult to interrupt these chatty locations and recommend leaving your voice behind when entering. And if ever again the world closes – open these pages.