drawing & a poem

And whose heart would not long to dabble?
whose eyes would not be drawn
onto a canvas whose hidden undertones
are blacks so rich they are bottomless.
she’s trying to pierce the sparkling day with
nocturnal bouts of awakening.
her gestures are subtle
undulating beneath the surface of any shape your
mind will inevitably make.
she longs for you to sit,
to contemplate the movements of your existence
as a scientist would their latest life altering experiment.
she’s reinvesting her capital into the blooming
awareness of your heart,
the internal knowing within your being
that your ability to act
holds within it
the ability to allow love an entrance into the human
that the reason behind all action is growth in the light.
she sings to you in this way

Shimtu & Portland

an excerpt from this book i’m reading

my wood duck that terry fixed in his wood shop

terry’s favorite fork

the woodshop

clouds on I5 & words

the day dream team invests its every effort upon the capital
in which your interest is paid
clever and cooperatively drunk on the heights of your own hearts wisdom
these eyes ponder that which lies beyond the visible
to steam your own blood in the fire of mamas renewing cataclysms
a reinvestment of the senses
a knowing that stretches far beyond the “known senses”
one that stems from the rose bud of existence herself.
he picks up sticks and drops the marbles all over the cafe floor,
he knows the excitement of life
the reason love exists
the love that creates the ability to reason.
how often and overwhelming the souls calling,
she asking for your inner ears
to come to attention.
to observe with every ounce of your awareness
her aria sounds inside of every sound
with the gift of grace, you absorb
the light of life’s feathered fingers tickling your frontal lobe
into an unknowing place, where fear can bind, or liberate
depending on how you relate
to this rawness,
this need to digest souls aesthetic
a beauty all your own,
a unique and universal siren calling you home,
the one
pondering the one
in an angelic state of remembrance you
give in
relinquishing control,
to listen
to give yourself
to give to all
the power of her flowing voice
that which never ends.