everything is Art, Art is Everything.
who wants these divisions? this drag on our happiness? this endless expression of frustration? without the balancing of scales,
By susan marie loehe6 years ago in Poets
this physical presence will not remain, as time does it's slow walk with all of us. journeying together, decisions to be brave and test true faith
once, an old victorian greenhouse was tucked into a corner of a very old property, it's quaint domes and spires with slow melted glass curvy and throwing reflection in the torchlight.
the blue that is forever half of a whole day on half of a whole world every day clear as lone howl of harmonica playing a duo
something of dragons and gifts is whispering from a distance an idea unformed but rolling in transformation a time lapse cloud front
Forgiveness, it is said, is a healer. there is no action that comes to mind, beyond distance. hours could be lost in what I watched you do.
the clock rests gently on it's wooden rounded edge, rescued one handed and missing it's number 5. there's no telling what's been reflected in it's glass.
imagine a wheel an old time wagon wheel with spokes a fancy 1920's slung back convertible your favorite bike with the playing cards
keeping a civil tongue is requested when dealing with the degenerate an idea of civilized behavior and restraint of condemnation
their derision a piss soaked piece of thin toilet paper on the floor of that public private bathroom that inside of which was filmed your progression drunkenly
one fingertip lightly traces the smallest of spaces cornered outer reaches where the lashes answer back it would be the swelled center of the upper lips barely meeting
once upon a lovely day somewhere won't do, is always doing, and more importantly: paramount, even. but this is exorcism, tilling in the round blades behind the oxen pulling.
