ink-blots make perfect sense
tucked into folded corners
meeting at blank ends
along strange avenues of
silence screaming to be heard
in a bitter biting wind
thoughts are born
on bended knees, blending colors
- silence breached from hesitation
calm side-swiped me yesterday
as I played with words
shaped from soft notes of quietness
while time unraveled itself
in a blue breeze
rusted chains are attached to
the curl in my spine
keeping me tethered to earth
in a mass of things hidden
deeper than skin
between white lines of wisdom
half thought out words form
behind magical eyes,
an illustration of poetic proportion
miming innuendoes of consonants
in a natural moment
- one stroke at a time
4/3/08
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