"Alturas" by Herbert Sanchez, courtesy of wiki commons images
The Need To Make
the light came through the window's pale moon
<i> having smoked a fine comment on a Tuesday night sprawl of colored vines and resting tentacle-laden hulls at the bottom of a freshwater sea, there came that moment of divine, uninterrupted epiphany falling from her red dress i liked to imagine; some men feel their protracted souls out with rubber gloves with a hint of baby powder offerings, whilst others throw down scraps in their lover's gutters to attract unseemly things for unseemly occasions...</i>
oh no, not me
donned in a resplendent dark nights shawl, seen walking by multi-avariced onlookers replete with distended jaws- hand in hand we careened through benevolent and unencumbered space/time like a praying mantis with fiddle or a multifaceted tier of palladium chain links hanging from a crescent moon, some such elegance that defines the class and obvious lack of despair you and I share; we are Pablo Picasso's very dream made real just after Imbolc yet shy a fortnight before the commercial charnel house of baby red saints with weapons and dark intentions...
damning to hell those that would sell their souls to Hallmark. Ew.
this cascading dance of you and i no longer metered by the likes of slightly soiled Demeter; we cut and we meld and we sing to each sweetly like coffee in the fog on the edge of the lesser Antilles, so our advances seem to predicate for we feed upon each other this artistry we make and we make and we make, culling away the stars in our pockets for times bleak yet prosperous to keep us real, it's really kind of the point in the here and now, don't you think?
these moments of need, these blisses of totality between artist and muse
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