Steady, pulsating drips
Form a cacophony of tiresome
Drifts of time
Winding down the twirls of
His paintbrush the trials of
Liquid resonance.
Pattern-less,
The degenerate.
Out of touch with reality,  
The artist,
In shambles.
Dialysis.

Scribble, scribble, let the pen
Strike infinite scripts
Of ancient runes in syncopatic grooves  
Spilling my roots
In open blends of hues
Transfused and
Transfixed in haze
The truest fade
It bade me to tip - toe
Amongst hybrid visions
Indigenous to the deepest blues
The realest thing to me and you
Is the mind and spirit...
The mind and spirit...
The reciprocal.
The body.
Peripheral.

Exists silhouettes
Bits of her motifs
Scattered amongst their fields
Like metaphors and similes
Pleasantly dancing,
The wind as her lead and yet
The wind is her own

Je vous vois!
Je vous vois!

I'm never too far for her to reach
For I will be where she is.
In wildflowers.
Meditate.