"focal" poems
Community -
it's not so much a social force
it's not out to coerce
it's an embrace
and in the end
that's what it's all about
it's a focus on people
it's a focal point on community
a common unity of those entwined
common folk connected and over-lapped
those over-wrapped by common loves
securely bound by common ties
occupying common ground
filling common space
with a wrap-around embrace
that lasts a tight hold longer
that ignores odd body odour
an embrace that lasts
a whole lot together
- It's what we have
in common
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 4:07 AM UTC
Electromagnetic Motion Ocean Of Pure Focal Emo-tion.
The Very Sound Of The Creators Verse And Rhythm In Loving Notion Pouring Through The Crystalline Endocrine Indoctrinated Shock Ra Of Shocking Unblocking Colorful Tones In Unmolested Focus And Definition.
To Flow Your Emo-tions Through Your Core And Manifest In Your Intended Notion All Without The Misidentified Horror Of The Wrongfully And Negatively Defined Emotions, One Finds That The Mere Act Of William Tell And That Apple Upon The Head Must Have Been One Hell Of An Interesting Interaction, Yet Instead Of The Reassuring Smiles And Calm Demeanor Of The Archer As They Lock Eyes, What Pray Tell You Think The Eyes Of The Archer Looked Like On That Very Frozen In Time Moment As He Released The Arrow To Guided Love Of Perfected Intent And Delivery Of Safe And Demanding Fortitude Of Action To Defeat All Possible Variable , As If To Need To Bend The Very Laws Of Nature If They Were To Cause An Number Of Odd And Unpredictable Events To Derail The Intent Of The Man Shooting The Apple Off The Head Of His Dear Child's Head, For Not A Bird May Pass Between, Not A Gust Of Wind Be Seen, Not An Earthquake Be Fabled To Accrue, Not A Single Action But The Undeterred Focus Of Absolute Might In Will, His Fee Will In Flight. What Might His Eyes Be Relaying In That Frozen Moment? Reassurance, Pity, Fear, Confidence, Or The Electric Fire Of Electromagnetic Motion Ocean Of Pure Focal Emo-tion To Get The **** Thing Done And Without Foolish ******** Reactions To The Real And True Focus Of Emotion, And Pray Tell, What If The Child Mistook This Look In A Moments Notice And Flinched Out Of Concern That The Father Was Angry With Him? Or Is It Best To Realize The Real Importance Of This Story As It Is The Trust In The Definitions Of Intended Focus And Not Of Simple Trust.? ,... Yes, Intended Focus Of Emotions Being Trusted As True And Not Negative In Nature, Dear Friend, Yes. So Let Your Soul Be Your Pilot, Let The Flow Of Emotion Be Free And Not Dictated By The Restraints Of Control And Be Seen And Used In Negative Ways, For These Are The Crimes Against All Mankind And The Bigger Part Of Why Spoken Word Is The Very Spell That Binds The Psyche, For The Focus Of Or The Lack Of Focus Of Emotions True Meaning And Purpose Is The Crime Against All Life Indeed. Live Free And Pilot This Love Ship Successfully By No Longer Defining Self By The Ways And Means That Have Caused Us To Fear Our Own Power To Move Mountains, And Kept Us All Mustard Seeds When We Are Truly Far More Than You Can Believe. Feel Free, Yes, By All Means Feel Free.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
Picture of girls face: 10 likes
Picture of girls face featuring slightly/damn near totally visible ***** bumps: 5000 likes.
What the **** people, its the SAME GIRL.
Her **** are there in BOTH PICTURES yo.
But due to the difference in likes, there's no doubt as to what the true focal point of the photographs are.
Honestly, I'd much rather see a picture of a ladies face instead of one featuring the awesome breasticles.
Because, while those **** do, without a doubt, totally rock, they should also be respected and like, viewed as something special for only that certain special person to see.
CONTAIN YOUR **** YOUNG FEMALES FOR THE LOVE OF ******* GOD.
You aren't attracting very respectable fellows by being so flaunty.
People that are into you only for your tits/various other dank body parts you may or may not have, will most definitely end up hurting the beautiful blood pumping anomaly that lies behind said ****
I mean it's your body, do what you want to do with it, but there are more then enough **** bouncing around the world right now to clog our minds with sexuality and distract us from accomplishing things as it is.
WE DON'T NEED YOUR **** IN OUR FACE.
not to mention, some day you're going to find a man or a woman that's going to love you for the super radical person that you are, and to them, your **** will just be like, the most awesome bonus, and by covering up just a bit more for all the numb skulled hard dicked mother ******* this world seems to have an endless supply of, you'll make that special person feel so so so so so so sooooo much more special when THEY get to see them.
You know what i'm saying?
We're in a society where your **** can take you further then your personality can and it's ******* ********
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
Bonds were formed within each heart
Made silent vows to never part,
Where ever on this earth we go
Within ourselves we'll always know
That friendship is a timeless thing,
It travels far and deep within
When distance grows of course we're sad
We can't reach out and hold your hand,
For what we share is far more deep
We'll meet again within our sleep.
You see, when bonds like ours were formed
The strongest friendship was then born,
The focal point we know we share
That's way up high and always there,
To guide us and to comfort through
The tougher times - our precious moon.
Just look at it and you might see
Your witches flying high and free...
No distance, time or age will stop
Our love for you, not on our watch.
© Karen L Hamilton, 2014
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 4:29 PM UTC
I dream of a society
Where the ideals of beauty
Are less focused on superficial concepts like one's waistline
Or how decrepit their smile lines made them appear
But rather one where the focal point of unanimous adoration is,
As corny as this may sound,
One's morals and where they land on the gradient of human compassion
In this utopia,
The elderly aren't seen as catalysts for repugnance and a wrinkling of noses
But rather as symbols of eruditeness and beauty
The type of beauty that influence or money can't obtain
And it may be conceivable that instead of wasting my days squandering over my physical appearance,
I can just fritter away the days
Strumming my ukulele along to the tune of my American dream
For I have yet to actually awaken from my adolescent slumber
Breifly enough to grasp my dream from the bubble floating above my resting head
And nestle it securely in my pocket
So it doesn't forgo me
In search of someone less complacent with bewilderment about their future
Who dreams of social and economic prosperity
Instead of someone who's apathetic at best about whatever career choice they've chosen for the week
Maybe that's just it
That maybe I don't want the conventional American dream of fame or fortune or recognition
Is it feasible that maybe my American dream isn't to rise from sqaulor into a soulless mansion
Whose corridors boast success
But lack warmth and presence?
I suppose that my American dream encompasses more than just America itself
It lives in the eyes of every human being on the face of the earth
It's nestled in the gaze of a starving child
And the stare of anyone who's ever felt a tongue's razor edge
And all I'd have to do is delve into their eye sockets and plant a seed
A seed of hope and compassion
Or whatever I deem fit
Perhaps I just want to shield myself
From the world's disapproving glances,
Those fleeting moments of eye contact that convey condescending judgement
Maybe I'd just like to make a difference to things sans the media’s snide opinion
But despite my juxtaposition to society's critical assessments,
I know that I can't run away from my fears or problems
So maybe I dream of a society
Where I can remain headstrong even in the face of opposition
Because I'm aware that not everyone's going to love each other
And spout sweet nothings about peace and understanding from their hind quarters
So maybe I'd like to help be a driving force
That wards off the world's shadows
So the sun can continue to shine on my American dream
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
The trapped soul
Don't you think we all are being trapped? .
In... In a schedule
A schedule which is not being made by our own self,
But is a contribution of all,
Alllllllll the human beings?
Come out from it,
Creative humans;
Deep throat your imagination,
Observe the elements your eyes are seeing which is eleminated by diversions.
Fix and mix your mind,
Bring the capturing out from focal of your eyes.
Illness, nausea, emotions let it all goo,
Know you soul.
The trapped soul.
Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 1:14 PM UTC
The acoustic guitar plays softly, in the background of a critiqued ball room as he made his entrance. The attention of the audience fell upon him; As he walked readily towards the dance floor, The melody of the flute and the rhythm of the bass guitar, Dramatized his beauty. The spectators in fear, but his passion so real, As I stared into his eyes, that made beauty felt unreal everything else that surrounded me disappeared. He focused his eyes on the dance floor they began to whisper; Who will he choose? Who has to leave now? He flashed his eyes upon the viewers that were once in shock, now in terror, but their ****** expression in awe. The apothegm states that he continually seeks for the one that would heal his disease but bound to the power of the earth’s forces, his determined, stunning eyes will never be able to reveal, the secret one that can heal. The bass drums play wildly as he shows the crowd his fury. The once stunned viewers now begin to panic, but I draw myself closer. Before I could reach him someone else got in the way. “I would like to die” was the words I know her to repeatedly say. He gently pushed himself away in anger. He looked around the ball room, and observed the reaction of the audience to his response. They’re now in astonishment. He then stopped and his focal point was clear. The piano and the cello played softly to become one with his voice. He said to me “let us dance.” I’m frightened, the majority of the onlookers left in a daze. My vision weakened before our dance began. He smiled, and as he looked upon my face all the instruments faded away. He said to me is this your last dance? Will you leave us tonight? I’m the kiss of death will you close your eyes forever or will you leave me in delight?”
Nov 19, 2009
Nov 19, 2009 at 9:39 AM UTC
Often, when I’ve escaped the strain,
The weight, the freight, burdening encumbrance
Of human society, community unleashed,
Profound distress, and a bit on the side—
I’ll contemplate
Of their judgements unknown,
Their penetrating, presumptuous eyes—
They tell me they love me, reputation irrelevant,
Trespasses, failures, habits—all disregarded,
And still I laze in my quaking of
Sleeplessness from apprehension
Pondering their thoughts obscured by their words
Heavens, a shrieking invasion!
Please don’t take that as the slightest indication
That I’m in any case a half-benevolent essence of them all
My ruminations drenched with a display of myself, my actions, my appearance
That’s proof enough that I can’t occupy a moment without me as the focal point
How can anyone be so vain
Low self-esteem shall consume my life, my breath,
And all of those thoughts,
So soon to drain...
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
Christina Quinn
has made Quality condoms
a focal point of her campaign.
That Anthony ******
he of modest demeanor,
would be happy to model t'is plain.
As a Lesbian, Quinn
doesn't care for what's in
The condoms she touts on campaign.
If abstinence matters
put her face on the wrappers
and no one will be glad that they came.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 7:09 AM UTC
How relative is time
That when I have an address
Of where to send my thoughts
I may march through the days
With my coveted "tasks" of penship
Fulfilled
Yet when I lack this focal point
And fumble into doorless walls
Each dizzy cell zips about
With not a patient comfort, all
Panicked
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
King Minos,
Spited by the God of Oceans,
Hesitated but a while
Before poor Pasiphae's bull-headed son
Was penned inside the labyrinth,
And then, as if to throw away the key,
Inventor Daedalus and his dear son
Were for their work a prison tower fee'd.
But they grew wings, for as we know,
An inventor's work is never done...
If only Icarus had listened
And kept a proper place below the sun,
Breugel's painting would have lost
Its distant splashy focal point;
The plowman and the shepherd would
Have stood alone above a perfect sea.
Old Minos never had a chance,
And though the cunning Hunter,
(He, who found the man who
Made a string crawl curving
Through a shell behind an ant),
Had won... decided to disrobe
And take a dip...a foolish act
To choose when Daedalus
Would serve a hot revenge.
Daedalus, who knew the score,
Burned wood to make the water soar;
In vengeance vented spiteful wrath,
And cooked old Minos in his bath.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
liquid light
oozing over
solid sound,
gasping gas.
static singing
focal filaments,
breaking brains.
lightning licks the
devilish dervish,
knighted king, the
anointed anarchist antichrist,
now nowhere.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC
Stitching
From a grand church in France to a rustic barn in Sweden the focal point and fascination is the door that
Has a key protruding in the lock but it has with time lost the screws that held it snug against the door
And the door frame there is no flat lumbered board now it is just a very deep splintered lines the color
Of auburn brown with a low gleaming in the setting sun I put my hands out and touch this rustic place in
Time an explosion of thoughts blast the mind a life lived well with purpose that endures with use the
Seasoned is expressed a stitching that is the fabric of life forms over muscle and sinew this outer
Garment does not belie the inner soul but in experience and in action it promotes and assures value
It passes through the vestiges of time the gray mist speaks with whispered mystery bur anchored at
Your center is the intractable character that sets the tone of your life a solid structure presents a forcible
Argument yes the elements have taken their toll but by doing so they have removed the green untried
Wood now the occasional creaking occurs but not of breaking but the stalwart rises in common skies
Privilege gleams the stranger or intimate friend is in the presence of the assured there is no pretense
This truth as sound as time and wisdom crowns walls and bedrock foundation you have come upon
The investment that God has provided and runs deep without constraints you can stand and muse
Here and as an invisible oracle your questions will be answered they will float on silent wind and mark
You as different you will be refreshed a redeeming will surge through you timeless affirmation will
Speak you will know it is sound it is steps that are sure when so much is cheap and just for show you
Will grow strong and tall your shadow will be the challenge to those who waste themselves on base
And worthless misgivings of life you will possess the power to be a place of refuge a fortress where
The powerless and helpless are provided comfort and instruction no longer will evil and its devices
Enslave the helpless there will be that irrefutable place of giving that will conquer a world bent on
Destruction.
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 12:41 AM UTC
True tangled Gordian thoughts entwine
Amid labyrinthine paths that wind
Sliding sledding serpentine
To assay value and extent
Braid a mind a shoreward end
Seeking weeping thrashing send
Infused with knowledge deep and sound
A consciousness cogitabund
Within the portals self confined
Disconnected judgements breed
Diffuse journeys often made
To darkened places
Where no light
Of vision lucid sparkling bright
Will penetrate and seem so safe
Writhing heavy leaden womb
Elusive dissolute abound
Reclusive and so moribund
But in the darkened space there seems
A distant tendril sparkling white
A reaching focal point to strive
To make that leap
Great grasping bound
Wrapping arms so safe around
Clasping forgone lines abandoned
Sublimating impasse upward
Strength of purpose
Welling forward
Great eruption spewing outwards
Lava flowed eureka moment
Spreading outwards
Flowing downwards
Cogent sentient live born
Brewed in darkness
Drinks the bright
With clarity and strength unite
Dazzling brilliant shining moment
Cleft asunder glorious light ....!
Oct 14, 2009
Oct 14, 2009 at 2:13 AM UTC
Have you ever noticed all the superheroes in your school?
That kid who's strong enough to lift things and throw them
at the other kid who's strong enough to actually take it.
Those popular girls, the cheerleaders
who always find the positive in everything
and have super cool elastic flexibility!
And those super cool independent chicks with their headphones in,
hoods up, shutting out the rest of the world.
Oh and of course those 'Clark Kent's who are so intellectual
leaving you puzzled and curious every time.
Those are the best kind of heroes because they're the underdogs.
You wouldn't think any of these guys would ever
be capable of being your Superman at Prom.
But you take away the glasses and then you'll really feel dumb.
There's all those cool superheroes hanging in the canteen,
spreading around like a bad cough in the playground
and then.. and then there's me.
Hi there.
I have the tendency to fade into the shadows of the ground,
My weakness is focal point.
The spotlight would burn against my sensitive skin like how
a sunrise would burn the skin of a vampire.
The attention of a million little lights
would be the cause of my own fire.
And if you look into my eyes..
If I let you,
You'll see my life flash right before yours,
you'll suddenly feel scared to know me..
but you'll care enough to try.
I guess you could call me Invisi-Girl!
'Cause I don't even wear a cloak,
nope,
I don't even need a cloak,
to be seen as the most invisible girl
in the world.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
I'll use you as a warning sign
That if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind
I'll use you as a focal point
So I don't lose sight of what I want
I've moved further than I thought I could
But I miss you more than I thought I would
I'll use you as a warning sign
That if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind
I found love where it wasn't supposed to be
Right in front of me
Talk some sense to me
I'll use you as a makeshift gauge
Of how much to give and how much to take
I'll use you as a warning sign
That if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind
I found love where it wasn't supposed to be
Right in front of me
Talk some sense to me
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 8:08 PM UTC
Piqué, piqué, piqué, pirouette.
Arabesque. I stand there and you spin me around en pointe.
You complete me. We dance and the music is like the background
To our focal point.
We are the centre stage.
Echappé, échappé, relevé.
Pas de chat ensemble.
Repeat à l’autre côté.
You take your hands from my waist now.
We need to complete the choreography.
And I feel lonely without you,
Although you are just on the other side of the room,
By the stereo.
I miss you.
Dancers fall for their partners all the time,
So I will never tell you how I feel
Because love will be the thing to tear us apart.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 12:53 PM UTC
Let us converge on the greatest Garden and then turn to others of meaning and beauty we are so dutiful
To work with family but in the beginning not only clues but evidence shows our great need we need to
With draw walk the garden paths at evening time with our creator father how peace would flow into the
Deepest recesses of our being briars of discontent found today would be changed into focal points of
Clustered flowers to the eye they enthrall with softness their scent infill’s the empty vessel that was
Spilled or intentionally poured out for the help of others with the most soothing rush it flows over the
Whole of you bask in this released treasure and then lift your eyes from His gifts to His lips that are
Speaking to you never have you partaken or been to the inner and outer most part of yourself with total
Disclosure confusion pain and alienation lift as a soiled garment the refreshing sweeping breeze carries
Torment out to sea the moist outer banks flood in as a great mist you are at once bound and beaming
With the knowledge that you are a most valuable person He addresses yourself aberrations that
Demean your true worth so it lies in all men and women the tell tale accuser the discomfited not from
Friend’s family or stranger did not William say it so truly “to thine own self be true” we are most cruel to
Ourselves this trait is vanquished when we are in the very presence of all consuming love he looks inside
At every hurt you see through His eyes and there is no complaint or accusation just acceptance faraway
Longings surprisingly touch and fill attending sorrow that baffled with a consistency how it unerringly
always found the mark it never missed your heart now by the touch of His hand
On the side of your face an erasing a newness of promise was put in its place how your smile told an
Outward story of the final removal of trepidations that were corrosive and were clay like that stuck and
Clung to your soul creating a heaviness and depression now the freeing bouncy love dispels the darkest
Apparitions that are lies that fight your best and highest interest what was the word that said moving
Mountains yes the heights and lows are neutralized now joy peace is at flood stage all it took was a stroll
In the garden
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 1:07 PM UTC
I still catch my breath
everytime I feel that
hot
searing
burst
on my skin
causing it to
pucker
blister
redden
it appears
melted
stretched taunt
forced to do something
it never wanted to do
and because it succumbed
I'm left with the this ever present
sharp
localized
tiny
focal point
of pain.
And it reminds me of you.
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 11:44 PM UTC
Like a rotten house,
oh how time flies.
Through empty streets,
the air being colder.
To stand at focal point,
and just look straight.
It all seems dim,
but yet like fate.
With dry large hands,
and busy eyes.
The tired men,
and starved flies.
It all seems gruesome,
to be one atom of the universe,
and yet so different,
so meaningful without words.
A hope diving from ground up,
to be new and refreshed.
To be rebuilt and beautiful,
the destruction of memories best.
It craves to be reborn again,
with a youth up to date each century,
but I, at focal point, stare out beyond,
craving my best memories.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 12:17 PM UTC
I
sat and I waited for you
with my skin crawling
many nights I looked into
the mirror
and I didn't recognize her
She was someone new
Someone desperate and broken
into a million pieces
The Culprit Was You
you brought forth misery
wrapped expertly with a
bright red bow
camouflaged and putrid
with your tarnishing love
it was a beautiful trick I must admit
you are quite the magician
you created trust
transformed it to dust
then made it disappear
with the blink of an eye
you forced love to die
with no arrangement of a funeral
I sat and I waited
many nights I contemplated
on ways to make it even
closure is what I needed
but my love for you was too strong
and you made it cry
the mistreatment you delivered
made love die
but my heart still beats
and still I remained
broke, busted, and disgusted
All of my fortitude invested in you
and you imposed it upon me
such potent ammunition in your grasp
you controlled me
to be your slave
while you swam nights in vain
I stayed in and prayed
for direction for protection
I would pray that your heart would fall
into my hands
and God told me to be patient
but
I can't
every moment had to be filled
with you
you are my filling
and I was your crown
pauperized by love's cavity
sleepless nights indulged
by the whispers of my mind
painting sweet stories
covered and blurry
except
my focal point was set on you
my thoughts left me at times
in spite of you
I didn't bother to pursue
how foolish of me
I was stupid
in love with you
meta-morphed to ignorance
in-cognizant of my worth
I left it at the creek
in my dream
where I sat
in thirst
where I washed my hands
in the glistening water
and laid my worries
in the white snow
but in reality
you know my inner child
only you see my inner core
so tell me how could I
love someone else?
who could ever love me more?
than the man who knows
me.
in
and
out
your the man who accepts me
out
and
in
your the man who adore me
internal
and
skin
consequently
there's no love in me
to love another
again
Copy Right 2014
©Patty Ann
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 12:09 PM UTC
Confession I: I want to be with you, not just around you. I want to lie with you, gently tracing the thoughts from my head into yours. I want to follow where your limbs go, with my lips, like a map or the north star leading me to your most beautiful valleys and mountains. I would collaborate with your collarbone and back to mine, allowing a skin bridge, a focal point, to show how inherently beautiful you are.
Confession II: I want you out of my head, but not out of my life. I have teased myself into a conditioned state, a procedure that no one should ever live through. I tripped over myself, and then over you, and I just want you the feel some electricity gathered at my fingertips, nose tips, please just kiss me. Kiss me like you would with your bent out of shape, looking for escape, lover. I could show you a thing or two about pleasure and how to love another woman just as much as you could love a man.
Confession III: I hope to apologize in the kindest manner, see some of your exposure – I’m trying to lift composure out of ten thousand gallons of saltwater. I know you have collected nothing but bitter – I just want to be sweet to you.
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 5:21 PM UTC
Solar flares, deep space chambermaid stabbing her
molten mop in contempt.
There are so many squares that field her space,
sifted afire.
Tearing out rays of her hair to be, and be
beautiful...to see her strands descending lit, the
stress level of an unforgettable goddess.
She yearns head-over-heels, burns out her core
with blinding reason.
Not once was she afforded a mirror to know her
space.
Wiry stick figures subsist under her--fatalistically
emotive.
Summed up, as water broken, transparent as the
life seen through.
What pagan rite has shimmied out her soul, what
serpent slid her warmth sane?
Do not site dawn or dusk, mistake her outer life
for an inner one!
Do not presume the burden of her focal point, her
light hangs overhead swaying interrogation.
Caught perfectly for Platonic cave or other...
in utero, her light a stillborn beauty--as alive as
ever once away from her.
She's up, burning...console her, her blood is boiling--
she wants to be accounted for, to outgrow that coo.
Only to surprise once and for all a stone's underbelly.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
.as i once explained the concept of a seasonal diet to a pair of english pensioners, citing the Essex strawberry harvest, counter the Spanish winter imports... certain graveyards, in winter, can unnecessarily compete with museums, stressed as focal points during summer.
who is here,
to, expect...
comfortable?
i sacrifice the
aspect of museum,
in order,
to find a second tier
of peace...
within the confines
of cemeteries'
exfoliation
of statues...
weathered,
slightly hidden...
in guise,
of half living, half dead...
yet all the more:
ever watchful,
that persistent...
prosecutor stature...
with death...
the sole "ambiguity"
of a...
jury;
a jury...
with a persona non grata?!
mon deus!
but one answer:
je suis mort!
since?
it is really hard.. to re-appreciate revisiting
museums at this point...
whatever the ancient in modern
terms focus for the pre-Byzantine
marble...
the open air extravaganza
of statues in a Slavic cemetery?
weathered, chiseled by a shyness?
teased out of existence?
primordial in a focus
of being haunted?!
well... museums have nothing to offer,
given this fleshed out
excavation.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 9:32 PM UTC