everything is Art, Art is Everything.
That little green owl, a friendly cartoon with it's hornrimmed eyes and the wisdom of ages twinkling, brings to mind the knowledge of
By susan marie loehe4 years ago in Poets
We might as well place our hands on that giant sharp tilting blade, and push down on it with all the bodily force we can muster.
we of the ever changing might place aside the prison of fear in the name of the moment we of the ever changing might nudge our canoes off sandy lake shores
only ever a phenomenal anonymous dancer standing by the guard of the gates of death don't touch there are open wounds
it's not the stars, but the syncophants the best guess is you really didn't know about the shade the entourage was throwing
there is no fear of condemnation if there ever was and probably not societal sanction having been a constant deliriously played with, easily overcome
Mystery boxes line the side of the road hold elephant memories and old suitcase handles there are cufflinks and wingtip shoes
keep walking unknown one, imagination not the blip of fame but the line of blue itself upon the screen. we dip in, we fly out in measured heartbeats
time to run the electric through the wire a humming sizzle a metal box swirl a tornado throwing a wide wind blowing a biosphere clearing
It's the shun that matters most: that not belonging, the unwelcome, the we're bigger and if no one's looking we'll hold you down
a lift an elevation an escalator a rocket ship slingshot fueled by an ignition of noxious gases mountains earth waves
now it is dark. turn out the light of deep hour wakening. the morning comes. comfort of this shaded ease enrapturing in the near dawn.