Arthur Vaso Biography

I sit at the table
An old man, an old table
The candle is old
The bread is moldy
...

There are no words
Where the hunter lays

There are no words
...

As I drove to work one day
In amazement a pink elephant crossed my way
I was shocked to see her in the middle of town
With bright purple spots and wandering around
...

Pains me
pretty leaves
regrettable memories
wilted golden pathways
...

The most broken of things
becomes art

if you become lonely
...