All minds
meet in the center void where they separately awaken w/ core
energy filling the room, re-dreaming someone else’s dreams left behind.
Collective thought lay somewhere near. It is unique to them. The small i + the big I. Where do i to find the fitting pieces?
Parts have been measured out in mugs of paint + cans of
coffee + in the breaking of a porcelain toothpick holder in the shape of an
iron, in the bondage of short days wishing for spring while savoring winters
work. Measured by helping stray
animal + orphaned colors no one else would give a second look to. Dying the
fabric of results + covering the wounds that the product exposes even as the
processes’ pain is hidden from my view. Finding others to hold up even as i kick aside my own work + lose
myself for moments at a time only to round the corner to find that i never left
my own private studio. Creativity has never been a convenient thing. It does
not enable super human strength, assuage the need for sleep or automatically
come with a paycheck. It dwells in
the deepest part of the pile w/ its head + hands exposed, ever waving for
attention w/ a slow burn that is never exhausted nor satisfied.
Is someone haranguing
salvation really what we need?
The fugitive kind, the ones
that got away. A fish story? Everyone’s got one. Surrender is a powerful tool.
Surrender physical, eventually the mind will follow.
i do go on.
