Art is the right hand of Nature. The latter has only given us being, the former has made us men.
-Friedrich Schiller
It hurts so much my shoulder blades ache
I’m so empty that my stomach growls
It hurts, my heart hurts
My jaw is sore from grinding my teeth
my arms are weak from clenching my fists
...
ants march along my forearm through thick curly hair
grass scratches my back, between my shirt and my pants
sweat rolls into my ear, all sound in a jar
and the sun beckons me, sneeze
...
i raked and i raked, then i stopped to admire
a city truck came and stood by the pile
vacumned the leaves and then off it went
with our autumn coloured futon in tow
...
How do I go to work?
How do I finish my chores?
How do I labour alone?
Knowing that you are out there.
...
My stomach stirs my sleep as life pulls me outside
To watch the moon in the sky
The mist starts to rise, stars start to fade
Yet the sun is still but a glow
...