The poetic expression of my artistic and aesthetic pillars along with some choice mixed-media.
Awakening on its journey, a smell of slight decay. Leaves sloughing from the canopy. A zombie losing the safe promise of summer fruits. Scurry and hurry to the beat of a sacred, albeit fatalistic, yearly routine. Close to where we started, but no less sweet to see, the two by two's; the families; their long sleeves
a cherished few returnFriend, I’m sorry, what even happened? Tolerable enough that "hey" would do.
like a boomerangI cannot stay, only come back. Tell me what you need. A wax figure constant to the flame. How do you see fit?
picking cherries out of lifeHusks on the ground, a shell of a man. The kernels rotten, ugly and obscene.
Universal responsibility without universal consequence. A convenient argument for those who never slept without food in their stomach, lived without love in their past, and never suffered doubt for their chances or passion to prevail.
Leave your scrap. I am the excrement of the world. I crawl to the edge of the trash pile, salt it with earth and devour. Leave your disgust. I am the crazy you loathe and the strange you fear. I sing platitudes like a skipped record, scratching the cliff holds for dear life. Lay me in the dirt. I suffocate there thousands of years watching the strata pass. Cast me your stones and throw me in the pit. Belabor your glorious effort at my humble expense. If all else fails, burn the witch.
Close your eyes: A tortuous path ‘round leaves, a smoky inhale, an acrid, honey exhale smiling sweet in the pane. It’s nice, they say, when your eyes open and that place you stay...
The ocean at the end of the lane, out there. Quietly waiting with the sun, we stare. Digging my own grave inside a bottle of Jack. Living life worth leaving and it ain’t half bad. Kill me with a smile; never take it back. Don’t know what’s waiting, passing through trees out there. A hazy, white wolf with a welcome-home glare. A knock at my soul hello to the ones who stay. Chilling with my friends fuck the rest away.
A quizzical creature bundled down. Quilted together, cut, from the same cloth - different scissors. Warm until tattered, somehow catching wind. A tired, musty dry line sagging and swaying. Moreover, the unreachable often still reach you. Crooked, but as usual, the only one in town.
The bench spoke to me. I waited so long: the daily walks, the nervous glances, - hoping. I made excuses, now thinking about it, to walk by. Deluding myself to believe. No, I do like walking. I do like that bench. Around and around that gnarly, blood-footed path. And then sat, “please leave“ it requested. An underwhelming introduction, but chills and flutters still. I walk on.
Watch the ants wander Cherries soften into earth Scattered leaves garnish
Cradle in the arms of pine needle anemone Wash in the light of magnetic, bleach sand The biochemical hum of gray matter overlapping white Subtle lucidity of this square foot garden Find your sanctuary, Build your peace
A novelty, she turns each page with as much emotion as she reads. Petals pressed, feathers caught, stories from the back of the book; pages no one else sees. A leak in performance held by drying wrinkles. I stared at each word so long, clinging for dear life to everything she whispered, the slow march of typeface across skin. Dangling by fear and craving off the sidewalk’s end.
Scribbles 'n Bits 