Brush bristles of smudged dreams drench my skin
Clairvoyant colors bleed deep in my veins
Dove draughts of mottled burnt offerings anoint me
I fling fistfuls of joy from my careless abandon
My soul is a canvas stretched taut yet so supple
I pine for the pressures of tincture and framings
Spiraling centers of coarse refinement
Breach the tide of my random a-musings
Sullenly slipping my grasp it releases
Frothing to flowing in rays of confection
Whirling to settle in flexible visage
‘Til adornment beacons my lover to gaze! …
I remember spending several weeks of the summer during my youth in Mobile, Alabama, visiting my Dad’s mom and family. One particular summer, while writing a letter home, my Grandma Telhiard noticed that I was placing my face very close to the page of the letter that I was writing. …