i watched the wounded animal
down the barrel of the rifle.
as it was dying, it gifted me the wonder of the forest.

back through a narrow shaft of space,
along the bent-light arc of the bullet,
the old creature pierced my heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




...therefore the brilliance, if present at all, lies in the concepts, not in the works themselves. Concepts are low on market value, so continues the comical scene: throngs gathered and bowing before multi-million-dollared blank canvasses, praying to the god of art, lest they be one of the heretically uninformed.

the sun is shining and i feel so...

this sunshine is so cold cold cold and weak and the color of bile arching east to west casting shadows on a wet blanket of earth

a brown yellow spiteful orb that can barely illuminate it's own shortcomings

the substance of faded cold-to-the-touch plaster and shrill cries and whispering half-decayed corpses