I speak two languages English and Mandarin I have known them for years they are my friends they are my enemies
Without the right words I cannot understand the language of art of poetry, of writing of what it is to be human
When the right words come it slips subtlety across my lips Boreas, the Greek god of the cold north wind descends upon the staged mythological scene with violent purpose; all is a torrent of charged masculine rage.
Such sense of impending danger describing a force beyond human yet carrying a distinctly human emotion Rage and violent anger Words show me what I cannot see
Beyond the brush strokes Beyond the composition and form I hear words that describe that philosophizes and enlightens the mind, soul, and body