Enveloping me in your embrace
Securely locked I find solace in your presence
With no escape or avoidance, I am held captive by your gaze
Delving deep into the core of my being
At long last I experience a profound sense of belonging
A tender recognition that allows my soul to be truly seen

You Are the Texture

…………………………

~ for all of you,
you, you poet~



Impasto

“is a technique used in painting,
where paint is laid on an area of
the surface thickly, usually thick
enough that the brush or  painting-
knife strokes are visible.

Paint can also be mixed right on
to the canvas. When dry, impasto
provides texture; the paint appears
as if, to be coming out of the canvas.”


<1:47pm>

Cut & Paste

is a technique used in poetry writing,
we refer back to our visions, heard words,
the eyeful, the earful, scents, the reads read,
all in the mind’s palette blended, thickly, but
the merging fused, every word~in~coloration,
it is unique, reincarnation, copying impossible.

The imagery, cut and pasted from thy heart and
soul, upon canvas, your poems~pieces each appear
as you-are-texture, you becoming out of, you, the canvas.

<2:04pm>


Postscript*
………………

it is not lost on me that the
scars, our words,herein,
we note too frequently, almost casually,
are, can be, the selfsame
words/painting-knife
employed
for our first and foremost
canvas we utilize,
is ourselves…
our bodies, ourselves

My child
As you come running back to me
So will I run to you
With arms open wide

it whispers as I drive past,
luring me in,
I park near the rocks.

I exit the car with my long locks,
descend the stairs,
run with the sand,
wind in my hair.

I breathe in the salt air,
and stare at the force of the ocean,
its beauty,
its strength,
and yet,
its fragility.

I pause.

As though to awake from a dream,
tired and drained,
I walk back to the car,
suddenly aware of the sand stuck on my feet,
and my knotted hair.

I went out to find
Some value in me,
So I sold what I had
For little a fee.

My eyes for a penny
I sold to some fools,
They're blind and useless,
Mistook for jewels.

My lips for a nickel
To the sweetest sin,
So they'll know the love
That has never been.

My ears for a dime
I sold to a lover.
To hear sweet nothings,
And silence uncover.

My hands for a quarter
I sold to a ghost,
So that she might feel
What I've wanted the most.

Finally my bones for a dollar
I sold to the earth,
But as for my soul-
There was found no worth.