Monday, March 1, 2010

the papers

when she smiles she is a breath away
from crocodile tears
an origami crocodile tears away at
walls of selfish youth
and when i see her in the mirror she
hides her face from
blue sun wonder

in a womb
of pickup lines and written prayers
a nest of headlines
a cradle of hitchcock love letters
once upon a time
i wished on newsprint stars for myself
tried to find a way and
time and time again tore the
new york times and i was

but she
stuck between pages is
leaping between lines is
landing falling landing
in a pool of blue ink
watering hole where the origami
crocodile sheds little girl tears
and i tear up when i tear out this
thin and fragile truth
that should've been in my
broken fairy tale
i use sticky wishes to try and glue
her history into my own
while giant jaws of what is to come
crash down in my mouth
rumbling as they rip a
600 mile paper cut

and yet the thing about paper is that it
folds and folds
command me to unfold you and find
the poem written there
rearrange the words and fold and seal
it up again inside a yellow envelope
send it to your paper doll baby
hanging by a shining string in that
white sky

paper playgrounds
for us to paint a future and a past
where the crocodile and the seal
and the little paper doll
applaud our wild hearts
and teach us how to read and write
stories that our lips never part to release

let your watery eyes tell the truth
turning the notebook transparent so that
i see you
your lovely ghosts trailing behind
an epilogue
legend will end
in beauteous watercolor flames of blue sun
licking upwards like the corners of your mouth
when you smile my breath away
and fashioning a white paper flag
surrender to your own strength

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Some photos I took on the plane...

And some good music to vibe to while you view:

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

My Words Flow

Below is a poem I wrote in the 5th grade. Proof that my younger self sometimes counsels my adult self.

My words flow like a great river
Carrying me to a land not yet discovered.
My words are my oars, the paper being written on is my canoe.
The river will carry many minds in years to come,
But for the river, once a tiny stream only carries me at the time.
What mysterious lands I will visit is only my choice.
My mind is my steering wheel and I have total control.
I can change the world just by revising a paper.
All the mistakes in the world can be edited.
I have no fear and feel quite welcome to feed my soul.
I explore the future communion and think.
What is to become of me? What will I explore?
There is one thing a young artist would say at the time
I am safe in my thoughts.