Category: Prose

Reprise Melancholy

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There is life on that rocky road that leads to places unseen in the hearts of men.
All becomes looking back to bare-earth mounds, seeds watered and hopeful for growth. Even in the rocks.
Yet am I cursed?
Will I not fail?
The sun hits me with its transcendent power.
A gift.
In that twisted moment I cry out, “let this not be mercy.
Tell me I am enough.
The light of grace is futile if worthy I am not found.
Tell me you see me.
You’ve caught and kept my every tear and have kept from me ultimate harm.
And if shouting at you helped, my lungs still would fail.
All is dark. Yes but for that sliver of hope.
Tell me I am enough.”

Dog Ear

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photo impression

The book reads well, even if blatantly banal
It was in good condition when I bought it
But I did notice a pattern
Pages dog-eared every so often

As we continue to spin in the cosmos, I notice the more important personal things are closer to the size of dust particles rather than globular clusters.
There has been a return to intent of rejecting what is in front of me. My simple machine transforms light into a wet canvas waiting for manipulation. The power brings a certain heaviness long stored before ancient recordings. Am I choosing to wrestle with God? A superfluous endeavor when everything has already been perfected.
No. I cede to God.
My feeble paintings.
Hung on the fridge with a magnet.
In heaven’s kitchen.

Starling looking south

False, But Ok

Moon Conversing

Happy New Revolution Everyone

Just Cause

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It is not enough
To live in the sky
Through endless thoughts
Of how and why

I feel my sanity slip under the weight of nature’s cosmic complexity. There is simply too much paint to deal with. Muscles twitch in old memories, screaming awake from the dead.
Dive into the pool above my head. Twist and make translucent the fraud of reality. Failure after abominating failure. It is madness. Sheer, unadulterated, completely freeing madness.

Smear and punctuate.