March 16, 2012


Her storm
She peels paper
From wet paint
Time thickened
Board and braided fiber
Hide beneath an ocean
White caps poke bled
Pages of terminal words
Rippled in color
For a moment
She is the blue
And gray
Kicking the horizon
Slipping across the greens
Aching to release
The crimson stain of sunset
Her trappings lie
Beneath the visible
Embedded in the pulp that
Gives her form
Or dysfunction
The thing about paper
The thing
About paper
It's ephemeral
Burnt in passioned fire
Dreamt in fleeting simplicity
To the world
She is transparent
Her storm
Beyond and beneath
His naked eyes

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