Art Therapy: September

Trees painted blush
with the kiss of autumn

I wrote that with refrigerator poetry.

My productivity of the last month, only slightly impeded by scattered employment:

Letters Without Lovers: Autumn Sent With Love, 2009

Letters Without Lovers: Birches, 2009

Letters Without Lovers: Quest for a Tree, 2009

Quest for a Tree, Armed with a Quote, 2009

Hand Graffiti: Part II

Rather than play my 20th hour of Bejewelled or Insaniquarium while working as the PopCap Games receptionist, I resolved to stretch my mind in a way that doesn't include countless and mindless clicking of a mouse.

My hand is covered in purple smudges that may or may not look like the following words:

if i love You
(thickness means
worlds inhabited by roamingly
stern bright faeries

if you love
me) distance is mind carefully
luminous with innumberable gnomes
of complete dream

if we love each (shyly)
other, what clouds do or Silently
Flowers resemble beauty
less than our breathing

Aging

I realized something today. It is something we all know deep down, but I'm sure rarely think of the implications in our moments of youth and indestructibility. Everyone is young and youthful, at some point starting out in their lives. Living is an incredibly difficult thing and it is impressive so many people make it to decaying bodies and mental instability. Discovering this at a coffee shop, I then looked around at the people and wondered at the lives and stories the elderly people around me could speak of. What did they look like and act like in their youth? How will I act and look in my age?

I think I will write more on this later. On my trip home, I saw an elderly couple at the park sitting on a bench. Perhaps they were husband and wife and had the opportunity to know each other when they were young. I can only hope this was the case. He put his arm around her and they both laughed while the sun illuminated their white hair.

Hand Graffiti

I wrote a poem on my hand to study while driving back from Bremerton. My car smelled of freshly picked raspberries and an inspiring mix tape danced the stars late into the night. The memorization was a success.

since feeling is first
Who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you

Wholly to be a fool
While Spring is in the world.

My blood approves
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
Lady, I swear it by all flowers. Don't cry
-the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

and death i think is no parenthesis