noticing deep coiled feels pent up behind words made almost real as waking steals my attention. no sun rising or bird song teasing will ease the feelings that my art is moving winding grooving in a mind not yet lit up. in and away from a spark in the falling dark thoughts are dualling fueling […]
i used to write poems on paper believing that space to be safer than leaving words, undefended, out in the wide open, naively thinking and hoping that locking my thoughts in a journal is better than painting wall murals. to stand before my words, take steps back, and to still not see my source forces […]
how do i fit all of my days onto the page? he asked. by never forcing pen, head, or heart to agree. the lines answered.