Its the peace in you I find beautiful
A lonely soul blessed on a journey
Keep walking your path to exile
We ought to find one another eventually
Thoughts never stop to pour out
Not even drips because its a broken water main leaking back in to an ocean of countless careless things
Contamination never seemed to pass through your filters
As pure as the warmth coming from your fingers
Don't turn back or look the other way
To all the problems you should've avoided
Whats here is yours to claim
Everything you've done has summed up the value of the name you hold
If thats really your name
Who are you really and whats the act you're playing
Own up to your name to feel whole again
Let go, to regain new strength to combat the evils on your crooked path
Its all on one line that never ends
You may seem to be on a loop
Its all inside of you, the things that intoxicate you
Everything remains continuous

why do we always choose negativity over being positive
we choose to have our thoughts drown us because
it is harder to swim
than
to
s
i
n
k

Despite what you do and say,
trying to convince me
of your care.
I can see through you.

I see the way you treat the others
who I hold so dear
and love.
I can see through you.

Please don't try any longer
to get any closer
to me.
Prolonged pain lingers deep within.

Nothing can replace the past;
the anger and emotions
ever haunting.
Pessimistic thoughts tied to each beloved.

My troubled soul still aching;
filtering old complaints
and memories
which try to hide from truth itself.

Methods to cope with dull reality;
to ease the pain once more
which resides.
I can see through you.

I still ask
myself why
you do the
things you
do, still wonder
if you hide behind
a paintbrush or
smoke blunts on
cliff edges with
pretty girls, wrapped
in bandanas, dust
and Albuquerque
sweat, I still romanticize
you in the back of my
head along with everything
else, and that song by Tori
Kelly winds back up over
the speakers.

for my friend, the artist,
Ayesha Joy Burkey

the answer simplest,
is there any other way?

we paint, fashion jewelry,
even human beings,
for and from
wire, stone, DNA,
and paint

our harshest critics,
ourselves,
always we busy saying,
not good enough

so South Dakota,
breathe release,
let one whom,
you have never
in flesh seen,
see you through
the ten plagues,
to a promised
answer~land

long have I searched for my
flawless poem,
knowing it my be
my next one,
each a doorway
to the next

this one,
and the
one before,
never good enough,
keep the essay going,
in fourth gear

so South Dakota,
in hot springs,
salve and be saved,
rapid city breaths exhaled,
in Jerusalem,
see the deal sealed

breathe release,
read out loud,
for hereby,
and nearby,
your voice must join me,
in this semi-silent
collaboration to make
this solo poem
into a
partnered painting
all yours,
your very own

can't you believe,
the mere question
you posing,
within,
the answer,
reposing...

The creation act,
frailties fraught,
what we design,
never good enough

but we paint on,
for the paint,
when eyes embraced,
says
a piece of my grief
herein encapsulated,
and so on and on,
to the next,
thus it's entirety
lessened,
one step closer
to diminished

you, grief painter
right hand cunning,
me, grief writer,
lest we forget,
through our art,
that even if our
words fail
our tongue, the ears,
to comprehend,
to communicate,
to convey,

but the eyes
they,
cannot be denied,
eyes,
that have gazed upon your
painting prayer

Of course you heal,
tikun (repair) of your world,
in every brush stroke,
you answer,
sufficient,
dayenu,

and then you
Restless Painter,
ask again, and answer,
af p'aam lo maspiq,
never good enough,

and I say it once more:

can't you believe
the mere question
posing,
within, the answer,
reposing...


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Two small paintings are part of a number
I did as an assignment
when I went to stay with my son.
One of his OCD symptoms  
is seen in a difficulty to get through doorways.  

When I showed the collection of work
to my teacher she said  
"do you realize you are painting open doorways?"  
And indeed, the motif was there
whether abstract or realist.  

Can one heal a child through paintings?
Or one's grief at being helpless to change things?"
A.J. Burkey