A sonnetarium is composed of sounds - machines & screams, midnight machinations of the iridescent, convalescent, electric, unicorn-slippered strait jacket bound. We are the disenfranchised, the abhorred, the disturbed & disturbing you lured to store somewhere in silence safe. Sleepwalking shiftless waifs yearn for release from an asylum of anonymous seasons. To steep in steam & tepid half-filled baths, lethargic limbs, arid albino leaves that wake mutilated, shake to sediment & make of its own desperate desiccation a sign. From dregs we align, assign an alphabet to our indignities, a language of survival by which a captive community is found & bound.
~ Kristin Garth