99. short brittle lines

had i taken my art seriously, i would have been a different person. i would have made everything from scratch: from scabs and paper, empty cans; empty windows, empty lives and baskets full of nothing but dew and pegs.
i’d hang it all right there – on the lamppost straining under the weight of its shaky light. an archeologist of tomorrow, or an architect of the past;- i’d dig up glass, giddy with youth and life and the rush of blood pounding through the vena cava and into the heart. i’d pour water from a hose straight into the vase and leave the vase like that, without flowers, only the water, to reflect the brilliant shine of light.

at times i think about that, charting my life as if i painted for a living, as if i put my life on canvas in short brittle lines. at others, i get this image, clear as day, of apples bobbing on the surface of the water, rippling out. and then i think of god. 

where is he now; and does he really listen? presumptious questions often come in pairs, i find.
sometimes i lay and listen to the silence and i can almost feel it, feel him, her, them: this overpowering presence of beauty, knowledge, loss, virility and life.
but almost. only almost.
and then it’s gone, as if it were never there.

i try to live by the rules. the fornication one, that one, it almost gets me. and there it is again: almost.
isn’t the world full of them, like butterflies, circling in pallid curves across the faltering sky? think long and hard and you start to hear them: a sweet low buzzing hum. and if i were an artist, i’d paint it as a sun. 



6 responses to “99. short brittle lines

  1. I’ve been enjoying your work, especially the latest installment. Thanks for inspiring me to put more of my words out there. The humming stillness. Can words ever compare? All the best in 2012!

  2. sharp and blunt all at once. i love the imagery, especially in that opening verse. the apples leave me curious… well done!

  3. it’s almost impossible not to like what you write. :))

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