the colors of her waking dreams were laid on papers as she fled into the pictures brought to life through breath she drew and paint she bled for though she worked within the dim the light she found was everywhere: the colors of her waking dreams removed whatever drab was there
Who was this friend you lost? He was A spirit floating in the air, A song you knew that suddenly Would morph, and change, and go somewhere It didn't seem to be made to go. The shape: a hole -- the place: within -- Who was this friend you lost? He was The 'is' within whatever's Been
This age is one with an abundance of anxiety and a shortage of respect.
Much of our anxiety comes from having more choices available to us than humans are wired to be able to handle. Our lack of respect seems to then come from how we narrow the choices available to us through willfully ignoring (or misunderstanding) others.
The library was that first place That I could find most anything: At age eleven, eyes gone wide, At what new wonders it would bring -- We could but only take (of course) A few things out on any day; Although it seemed to hold the world, To get it piece-wise was the way That we could get it. Slowly, then, The pictures would develop, as We read, imagined, learned, and grew. Like when I wanted to hear jazz: The headphones on, one at a time, I heard the songs I read about And felt the imperfections of The medium, but had no doubt That what I heard was real, and true. Connected then to history By all the work it took to hear Those things available to me But gradually, laborious. Right now, I could hear any song That's ever been recorded, but I listen less, and not for long, For we're not limited to what We've paid for, or we can check out: The songs are all there for our ears But where to start, or where about Is overwhelming. We employ Then social markers, to denote The things we will consume instead: The same way that we think, and vote. There is an 'us', there is a 'them' -- This reasserts the borders that We long to have; and so we live An inch deep and a mile Fat