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| a scribble from a 2012 sketchbook |
The fucking box (hall of mirrors)
Hello human
being
Most
beautiful girl I’ve ever seen
The dust I
swallow
The dust of
the cold
Intuitive,
subversive to
Question the
very meaning
Breathe eat
sleep seeking
Work one’s
way through
The wormhole
The dust we swallow
The fuss we
follow
To Be or Not
To Be Bold
Shallow,
formal
In the
hospitals of old
I feel this
dirt I can not hold
Arrange the
words to untangle
Anything too
absurd
While
mountains moan
And shift
and groan
I tap gently
on the
The piano
keys,
The krispy
krakkle of paper well-worn
The fuss we
fawn.
We each have
our way,
Times you
jar on my ears grrrr
This is my
time, our time
Kind time,
found rhyme time
Faith and
trust I follow, or
What is this
life for
That’s why I
keep my notebooks small.
I don’t have
the space to put this all.
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