the bodies,
strings tied in knots and
stained in blood,
bending the bubble
next to reality
tapping on color
through some mask
sketched like a bats wing
preying on
the streaks of dawn
and the residual
spatter of god -
resting body on clay tables
delicately picking
life from the air
and leaving beauty drawn . . .
marking the shift in layers,
distortion in fantasy
and my other world.
1 comment:
i am honored..not only to have kevin as a friend, but to have been introduced to his comrads in a most unique, (revolutionary, dare i say) way: heart to heart. Pleased to meet you, Mark..if there's room at the table for Dinner with Hitler, i wouldn't mind helping myself to seconds with that fives-star food for thought. :)
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